


Earned It

by assassinslover



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dancer!Lexa, F/F, baby brother aden, dancer!lincoln
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinslover/pseuds/assassinslover
Summary: Lexa's too enraptured by the paint splattered girl before her to care that said paint is also all over her favourite – formerly white – shirt. So enraptured, even, that it takes her way too long to notice the distraught look on the other girl's face and the ruined canvas in her hands.Lexa, a dancer and a business major, offers to help Clarke re-do her ruined final project.





	1. A Change is Gonna Come

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter song: A Change is Gonna Come - Leela james

1

 

            Lexa's too enraptured by the paint splattered girl before her to care that said paint is also all over her favourite – formerly white – shirt. So enraptured, even, that it takes her way too long to notice the distraught look on the other girl's face and the ruined canvas in her hands.

            “Son of a bitch,” the girl spits. She hurries off the footpath, canvas in her hands, and sets it down against a bench. It looks fine to Lexa, but then again she hadn't seen it before and the rapidly drying pain on her shirt clearly speaks to something. Her brain kicks into gear.

            “I am so, so sorry.”

            “No, no, it's my fault. I should have watched where I was going.” She sighs and shoves both hands through her hair, smearing more wet paint into the blonde strands. “I'm so fucked. I am so fucked.”

            “I'm really sorry,” Lexa says again but the girl isn't listening to her. In fact, she seems to have forgotten that Lexa is there entirely. Lexa feels like maybe she should leave while she can, but that would be rude. Lexa is the one who walked into her after all. “Is there anything I can do?” she says, a bit louder.

            “No,” the girl moans, “not unless you can somehow paint an entirely new piece in less than a month. It's fine, like I said, wasn't your fault.” But it clearly isn't fine, and the need to help burns hotly in Lexa's stomach. Except that she's no artist, at least not that kind of artist, so really any help she could offer is borderline useless. The girl finally seems to notice that Lexa is a person, and not just a voice. “Oh, your shirt! I'm so sorry.”

            “It's nothing, really,” Lexa says. It suddenly doesn't matter that it's her favourite shirt. She can always get another one. There's plenty of vintage shops in the city with shirts just like it, gone soft and worn with age.

            “I know a trick to get paint out of almost anything,” the girl says. “It's the least I can do, seeing as I ran straight into you.”

            “Actually-” Lexa starts, but is cut off by the look on the girl's face. “If you insist.”

            “It'll take my mind off this train wreck. My place isn't far.”

            Normally Lexa would say no; she isn't in the habit of helping strangers, no matter how attractive – and this stranger is particularly attractive, but she still believes it's her own fault the collision happened and if this is what it takes to make it up to the girl in front of her then that's what she'll do. Besides, Anya's been warning her that she needs to be more friendly. Having a head for business isn't going to take her very far if she doesn't have a charismatic personality to back it up.

            “I'm Clarke, by the way,” the girl says, extending one hand splattered with dried paint. “Clarke Griffin.”

            Lexa accepts Clarke's outstretched hand. “Lexa,” she says, refraining from saying her last name. There's no need to draw undue attention to herself, after all. Clarke gives her a pretty smile, hoists up her ruined painting under one arm, careless now of the wet paint smearing across her skin, and jerks her head in the direction Lexa had originally been coming from, towards one of the many parking lots she never used.

            “It's not a long walk,” Clarke says. “Wait, you don't have class or anything, do you? I'm sorry I should have asked first.”

            “Actually I was just heading home.”

            Clarke lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh, good. Come on, then, the longer that paint sits the harder it'll be to get out.” So Lexa follows, questioning herself every step of the way.

            It's a short walk, but a pleasant one. Clarke doesn't feel the need to fill the silence between them with pointless small talk and the weather is nicer than it's been in weeks, albeit a bit chilly. Clarke seems not to mind the nip in the air, however. She's dressed in jeans and high top sneakers, a short-sleeved button up hugging her torso rather snugly. The blues and greys of he fabric suit her pale hair and bright eyes. Lexa shouldn't be staring so much. She focuses on what's in front of her instead, starting to wonder where exactly Clarke lives when Clarke suddenly cuts in front of her to go into one of the tall buildings that line the city streets away from the open, green space of campus.

            Lexa honestly didn't expect Clarke's building to be so upscale. As a general rule most artists are broke – as Lexa herself would be if it weren't for her family name – and college artists even more so. Clarke appears to be a woman of some means. The apartment is a few floors up and facing the back of the building, lowering its property value, but it's still an impressive apartment. It's warm compared to the hallway, which might as well still be outside, with a small entryway containing a coat closet expanding into a living room and kitchen/dining area. The colours are neutral and the floors are hardwood. Lexa peeks down the extending hallway to her right to see three doors, two closed which presumably lead to bedrooms, and a third halfway down the hall that Lexa assumes is the second bath.

            “This is nice,” she says.

            “Thanks,” Clarke replies. “Sucks I have to share it.”

            “You don't live alone?”

            Clarke gives her a look that makes Lexa realize how entitled she just made herself sound. “No, sadly. I can't even afford a studio in this city. Technically I only have one roommate, but her boyfriend is over so often we might as well put his name on the lease.” She leans her canvas carelessly against the wall. “Wait here – I'll go get you a spare shirt.” Lexa stands awkwardly in what passes for a foyer, not quite in the apartment, and waits. She picks up the sound of Clarke rummaging through a dresser and then hears her shoes on the wood floor.

            “You can come in, you know,” she says upon seeing Lexa still standing by the door. Lexa ignores the blush that blooms on her face and steps inside, unravelling her scarf and draping it neatly over the back of the sofa, followed by her light jacket, both of which somehow managed to avoid the paint incident. “Here,” Clarke says, holding a new shirt with a stylized crown on the front out to her. “Give me yours.” Lexa waits until Clarke realizes what she said and laughs, closing her eyes. Lexa takes the shirt from Clarke's hand, both of which are soft and warm, and pulls her own over her head, doing her best not to get any paint in her hair.

            She catches a whiff of something good in the fabric. “You can look now,” she says as Clarke's shirt falls over her stomach. Clarke cracks one eye open, then upon seeing Lexa in a suitable state, fully opens both and takes the balled up shirt from Lexa's hand.

            “I'll be right back,” she says. Lexa fidgets by the sofa while Clarke disappears into the back of the apartment again. She glances around, noting the bare walls. She would think an artist would display art in their home. It hardly looks like anyone lives in the place. Sure, there's some things on the kitchen counter, and books on a small coffee table, but it feels more like a set up than any sign of human inhabitancy. Maybe the bedrooms look different.

            “It needs to soak for about an hour,” Clarke says, her voice travelling down the hall just ahead of her. “Paint should be all gone then, I hope.” Lexa smiles stiffly. “I'm sorry. Again. Do you want something to drink? I don't mean to make you hang around this dump.”

            “It's fine,” Lexa says. “This shirt is comfortable.”

            “It's old,” Clarke replies with a smile that loosens Lexa's jaw, just a bit. She crosses to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. While her back is turned, Lexa tugs the collar of the shirt up to her nose and sniffs. It's clean, smelling faintly of laundry and of wood from what was likely a long stay in a dresser drawer, and under it the scent of skin and old sweat, forever weaved into the fabric. Something about it twists a knot in Lexa's stomach. She quickly drops it, just in time for Clarke to turn around and offer her the drink.  Lexa sips, the cold clearing her mind.

            “So, you're an artist?” she asks, gaze passing over the ruined remains of the painting against the wall.

            “So I like to think,” Clarke replies. “Fat load of good an art degree will do me in real life, so my mother tells me. One that I'm not likely to get now unless I can somehow pull a new final out of my ass.”

            Guilt creeps in. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I'm sure you'll have something to turn in. What did your mother want you to do instead?”

            “Med school,” Clarke says. “I like it enough, but that's just too much money and too much time in school. I don't wanna spend my life charging people out the ass so I can pay off all my debt.” She seems taken aback by her own words. “Sorry. Didn't mean to get all preachy.”

            “You weren't,” Lexa says. “It's good you know what you want, and that you're not afraid to pursue it. That's admirable.”

            Clarke's smile lights up her face. “What about you? What do you do?”

            “My family has a small business,” Lexa says. Small is an understatement, but Clarke doesn't need to know that.

            “Is that what you're studying then?” Lexa nods. “I don't envy you. Sounds like hard work. I guess it's worth it if you love it, right?” If only that were true. Clarke runs a hand through her hair. She's still covered in a rainbow of paint. “I'm sorry, do you wanna watch TV or something? I shouldn't make you just stand around for an hour waiting for your shirt.”

            “Actually, I have some work to do if you don't mind?”

            “Not at all,” Clarke says. “I'll just set an alarm and let you get to it. Make yourself at home.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I'll be down the hall if you need me,” Clarke says and leaves Lexa alone in the living room. She settles awkwardly on the sofa and pulls her laptop from her bag. From what she guesses is Clarke's bedroom she hears faint music. With a tired sigh she opens up her the third draft of one of her final essays and picks up editing where she had left off the night before. It was boring work, but normally Lexa managed to absorb herself in it enough that time passed swiftly. She would set an alarm and do nothing else until it went off, even if that meant starting at whatever was in front of her. She taps on her keyboard, erases what she had typed, and tries again, then goes back to reading. A few seconds later she has to stifle a yawn. It's been a long day. She rubs at tired eyes.

            Before she knows what's happened she's being gently shaken awake. When she forces her eyes open she sees an amused Clarke standing over her. Her heart leaps into her throat.

            “Earth to Lexa,” Clarke says. “Your shirt is done. Just wash it once.”

            “I'm sorry,” Lexa says.

            “Don't be,” Clarke replies. “Might as well nap, right? I wish I could but even when I do have time I never get any peace.” She laughs and helps Lexa put away her computer. “I'm sorry again about the whole paint thing.”

            “It was my fault, really,” Lexa says. “I wish there was some way to make it up to you.”

            “Not unless you wanna model for me,” Clarke says. Lexa knows she's joking but the suggestion latches in her mind.

            “Would it help?” she asks. Clarke blinks and tilts her head, looking remarkably like a confused puppy.

            “I wasn't serious,” she says through a nervous laugh.

            “I am.” She surprises herself with the offer, but it's too late to take back now. The words are already out of her mouth.

            “Do you even have time? I mean my schedule is stuffed full and I just paint all day.”

            “I'll make it work,” Lexa replies, her determination growing with each second. She should have been paying more attention to where she was going. Clarke had been carrying a large, heavy canvas, it was unrealistic for Lexa to expect her to be able to move out of the way. Helping her with the creation of a new painting is the least she can do. “Tell me when you want me here and I'll be here. I don't care what time it is.” She pauses. “The only day I can't is Sundays. I have other obligations.”

            Clarke looks like she wants to drop to her knees and kiss Lexa's shoes. “Afternoons,” she says. “My classes are stupidly spread out but any time after two...”

            “Tuesdays and Thursdays?” Lexa asks.

            “Yeah,” Clarke replies. She still sounds shocked. “That's perfect.”

            They trade numbers and Lexa leaves, her shirt in an old plastic bag for her to carry. There's only the faintest trace of paint still on it, nothing a bit of carefully applied bleach won't be able to wash out. She really doesn't have the time to be sacrificing two of her evenings for someone else's schoolwork, but she's confident that she can balance her own with whatever modelling Clarke needs her to do. It can't be that hard.


	2. Cherry Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Cherry Wine - Hozier

Lexa shows up outside Clarke's apartment at exactly 2:45 on Thursday afternoon, but she doesn't start feeling nervous until the door opens. She expected to see Clarke, but the person across from her is dark where Clarke is light and has a less than pleased look on her face.

            “Yeah?” she asks, then squints. “Do I know you?”

            Lexa tips her chin up just a bit. “I'm here to see Clarke,” she says.

            “She's kind of busy right now and doesn't like being bothered so-”

            “Is that Lexa?” comes Clarke's voice from deep inside the apartment. Lexa hears the thud of bare feet hurrying towards the door and suddenly Clarke pops up over who Lexa presumes is her roommate's shoulder. “Hi,” she says cheerfully. “Don't mind Octavia, she's just salty because her boyfriend's busy.”

            “I'm salty because now I have to listen to you and your girlfriend getting it on all night.”

            “Excuse me?” Lexa says at the same time Clarke goes, “She's just helping me with my final.”

            “Right,” Octavia goes. “Well, I know how Clarke gets about her art so I don't envy you.” She steps to the side and grabs a coat off a hook. “I'm gonna go by Grounders. See you two lovebirds later.” Lexa stands aside to let her out and watches her walk down the hall, equal parts offended and annoyed.

            “I'm sorry,” Clarke says quickly. “She's just having a bad day.”

            “Obviously,” Lexa dead pans.

            “Anyway, I'm glad you're here. I have no idea what I want to do so I just thought maybe I could do some sketches while I think things through?”

            Lexa pushes her annoyance to the background where it'll fade into nothing. “Whatever you need.”

            “You can leave your shoes here and come on back.”

            Lexa kicks off her boots and removes her coat and scarf, leaving them where Clarke directs her, then follows her down the hall. Clarke's room is at the very end to the left, clearly the larger of the two. A full size bed is shoved into the far corner, opposite the door. The blankets are pulled every which way and half hanging off the mattress. The right hand side of the room is covered in tarps, with canvases and an easel and a plethora of other art-related items scattered about. Clarke quickly begins to clean some of it, apologizing. Compared to that one corner, the rest of the room looks almost bare.

            “You don't display your work?” Lexa asks.

            Clarke just snorts. “I'm not _that_ full of myself.” She curses and pulls something out from the bottom of a pile. “Finally.” She turns back to Lexa. “So, basically how this works is you just sit on my bed and do whatever while I do some sketches and try to figure out what's going to work right for my project. Sound cool? If you have like, work or anything you need to do.”

            “Is that all you need?”

            “That's all I need,” Clarke says with a smile. “I told you it'd be easy.”

            “Well, I didn't bring my computer with me...”

            “So just play on your phone or something. You don't have to just sit there like you're a statue, don't worry.” Whatever you say, Lexa thinks, but doesn't voice. She wriggles her phone out of her pocket, suddenly wishing she had worn looser pants, and clicks it on. She's never been one for games, but she fiddles through the app store to give her fingers something to do. She hears the scratch of Clarke's pencil on paper and fights the urge to look.

            “You're too stiff,” Clarke says after a few minutes. “Relax. I don't care if you move; I'll adapt. I just need to get a feel for you, that's all.” Lexa bites her cheek. “In a not dirty way, I mean,” Clarke quickly says. She sighs, mumbles something that sounds like “shut up Clarke” under her breath and goes back to her sketching. Lexa breathes in deep, the way she's been trained, and lets the tension drain from her shoulders. Clarke's bed is comfortable, and the pillows, which Lexa has piled behind her back for support, smell pleasant and slightly woody; Clarke's shampoo, probably. She glances at Clarke out of the corner of her eye. There's paint in her hair again, and her brow is furrowed just enough in concentration to put a little line in her skin. Lexa raises one hand and bites on her thumb, an old habit, and looks at her phone again. When she realizes she's chewing she puts her hand down but Clarke makes a noise in the back of her throat that makes Lexa pause.

            “Could you put your hand back?” she asks. “Just for a second.” Lexa obeys and Clarke's pencil moves furiously for a handful of seconds. “Okay, you can move it now. Thanks.”

            Lexa bites the inside of her cheek instead. She has little interest in apps on her phone but looking at them gives her something other than Clarke to stare at. She can feel sweat gather on the back of her neck and casually rubs at it. Her fingers come away damp. It's been years since she felt this way. She doesn't like it. She wipes the back of her neck again, then piles her hair up on top of her head in a handful of practised movements. Clarke's pencil frantically scratches, trying to catch each movement. Lexa stops paying attention to her phone.

            “Any ideas?” Lexa asks eventually.

            “A few,” Clarke replies. “How long has it been?”

            Lexa glances at her phone. “Almost an hour,” she says, hardly able to believe it herself. It doesn't feel like it's been more than fifteen minutes.

            “Shit, I'm sorry. Do you need the bathroom or a drink or anything? Are you hungry? I'm so sorry I'm being a terrible host.”

            “No, it's fine,” Lexa says quickly. “I didn't realize either. A break would be appreciated.” She stands, stretches with a pleased groan, and follows Clarke out into the kitchen. Octavia is still gone, to Lexa's relief. She's sure Clarke's roommate is a decent person, but first impressions are hard to forget. Clarke hands her a tall glass of cold water. Lexa drinks it down greedily; she hadn't realized how thirsty she'd gotten. Clarke watches her with one eyebrow cocked. Lexa licks moisture off her lips and settles a stare on her.

            “What?” she asks.

            “Nothing,” Clarke replies. “Just thinking.”

            “About your painting?”

            “No, about asking if you want to go grab a drink. My hand's cramped up and there's nothing else to do around here.”

            Lexa's chest clenches. “Actually I should catch up on my work,” she says. “Maybe next time. I'll remember to bring my computer.”

            She might be imagining it, but Lexa thinks she sees disappointment cross over Clarke's face, but when she looks more closely it's gone, replaced by a casual smile.

            “Sure thing,” Clarke says. “See you Thursday?” Lexa smiles tightly and nods. “Okay, then,” Clarke says. “See you around.”

            “Bye,” Lexa says. Clarke hangs nearby until Lexa's put on her shoes a coat and then shuts the door behind her with a little wave and a quiet goodbye. Lexa hears the doorknob rattle as Clarke locks it. She wipes sweat off the back of her neck again then tugs her scarf closer and begins the walk back home.

 

            “You missed practice,” Anya says the second Lexa sets foot in the door.

            “It's Tuesday,” Lexa replies.

            “Yeah, the studio was open. I sent you a text.” A text that Lexa had ignored out of politeness. “Where've you been?”

            “Helping a classmate,” Lexa says. It's not quite a lie.

            “So you're tutoring now?”

            “Not exactly.” She hangs up her coat and scarf and kicks off her shoes again. Anya tosses her hair and goes back to watching the TV.

            “Well, whatever. I went through your routine with Lincoln. It still needs some polishing up.”

            “You're the one who choreographed it.”

            “Yeah and I'm saying that you need to show up to practice so that you and Lincoln can iron out all the kinks.”

            “I do,” Lexa says. “On Sunday. When the studio is reserved for us all afternoon.”

            “Practice makes perfect, Lexa,” Anya says in a sing-song voice. Lexa doesn't dignify her with a response. Anya laughs at her silence. “What's for dinner, Woods?”

            “Chicken?” Lexa asks. She obediently looks through the pantry. “Rice... pasta...”

            “Pasta,” Anya says. Lexa gets the ingredients and spices she'll need and starts up the stove. Anya turns up the TV so she can hear in the kitchen and flips over to the news. It takes half an hour for Lexa to cook dinner for the both of them and during it all she can do is wonder where Clarke is. Did she go out drinking alone or did she go back to her room to sketch Lexa from memory or start on a new painting for her final? Lexa regrets having said no, but there's no room in her life for a relationship. There's barely enough time for her dancing.

            “Lexa, something's burning!” Anya calls loudly, the tone of her voice indicating that it's not the first time she's said it. Lexa quickly moves the pan off the burner. Part of the chicken is black. She cuts it off before she plates the food. “What's up with you?” Anya asks when Lexa brings the plates to the sofa.

            “Nothing,” Lexa says. “I'm just tired.”

            “I don't know why you do this to yourself,” Anya says around a mouthful of chicken. “Anyone with eyes can see that you don't give two shits about this degree. You should be doing what you love. This is dry, by the way.”

            “You know I don't have any choice.”

            “Look, the company is going to come to you regardless of if you have a degree in business or not. You already know all of it anyway. Just drop out and sell the damn thing in what, a year and a half? Nothing is worth you being this miserable.”

            “I can't,” Lexa says.

            “Why, because it would disappoint your parents? I hate to say it but the only way you're going to impress them is if you sell your soul and become and emotionless android.” Lexa's jaw tightens. She takes her first bite of food. The chicken _is_ dry. “Next time I'm cooking,” Anya says.


	3. The Writer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: The Writer - Ellie Goulding

On Thursday Clarke says six words that Lexa doesn't _not_ want to hear but doesn't _want_ to hear at the same time.

            “Can you take your shirt off?” Followed quickly by, “Strictly professional, I promise. I do a lot of nude work, you know, being an artist and all and I just have this idea in my head that I can't get out. I think I might be onto something. Do you mind?”

            “No,” Lexa says slowly. She's hardly shy about her body, but she's nervous around Clarke. Her hands shake when they grip the edge of her shirt. She pauses, then turns her back and lifts it up. She hears Clarke's gasp.

            “Oh, you have tattoos...” she says in a soft voice. “Can I look?” Lexa covers her chest with her un-marked arm and nods. Clarke, who'd been holding her sketchpad, quickly ditches it in favour of letting her fingers trail over the swirls on Lexa's arm. “Do they mean anything?”

            “Yes,” Lexa says, but doesn't extrapolate. Clarke's hand moves to her back. A shiver runs down Lexa's spine.

            “These are gorgeous...” Clarke whispers in wonderment.

            “Thank you,” Lexa replies stiffly. Clarke recognizes her tone and her hands disappear. Lexa instantly misses their touch but she won't say anything. She bites her cheek to keep her mouth shut. Clarke doesn't seem to notice.

            “Okay, so, I had something else in mind, but I can make this work. If you could just, uh, lie on your stomach for me? Yeah, like that.” She leaves the bedside to drag over a stool, then ditches it in favour of sitting on the end of the bed, near Lexa's feet, with her sketchpad on her knee. Her eyes are on Lexa's hair, which has been up since she got out of the shower that morning, but she doesn't ask Lexa to take it down. “Just relax. You can even take another nap if you want.” Lexa hums. “Just let me know if you need a break or anything. Try not to move, though. This is how I want you.”

            The words send a flash of heat through Lexa's stomach. Briefly the image of Clarke pressed up against her bare back plays out in her mind. She bites down hard on the inside of her cheek and listens to the scratch of Clarke's pencil. Occasionally Clarke shifts, the bed dipping under her weight as she moves up towards the head to get a better look at what Lexa's guesses is her tattoos. There are goosebumps on her skin but she doesn't want to ask to cover up. She can tell that Clarke is in the zone and she would hate to ruin it like she did Clarke's original painting.

            “What are you thinking about?” Clarke asks eventually.

            “Nothing,” Lexa says quickly.

            “You're always thinking about something,” Clarke replies. “I can tell.”

            “Nothing in particular,” Lexa clarifies. She hesitates. “There's a lot on my mind.”

            “So tell me about it.”

            “I wouldn't know where to start.”

            “Start with something small,” Clarke says.

            Lexa has to think for a moment. “I hate my degree,” she finally says and regrets it immediately. That wasn't supposed to come out. She was supposed to say something like she's tired, or she's stressed about school, something normal, not that she hates her major. She expects Clarke to ask why she's doing it, but Clarke instead just goes,

            “Why?”

            “I don't like what it's trying to turn me into,” Lexa says. “I don't have any passion for it. Some of the people in my classes are nice but most of them are selfish, shameless capitalists who only care about being the biggest and the best. I don't want that. I want to do something that I love. Something that makes me happy. Something that brings other people joy.”

            “So why don't you?”

            “It's not that simple.”

            “Parents?” Clarke says in a knowing voice. “I had the same issue. My mom wanted me to stay in med school. She still does but I said no. It means I have to work my ass off and I'm going to be in debt for probably the rest of my life but fuck it, you know? Life's not worth living if you're miserable. And maybe if I'm lucky I'll find a big break and become a famous artist who can pour a can of paint on a canvas and sell it for a million dollars.”

            Lexa holds in a sigh and pillows her head on her arms. Clarke's pencil scratches loudly. “I can't,” Lexa says. “This is what's expected of me.”

            Clarke lets the topic drop. “Is that all that's bothering you?” she asks.

            “Yes,” Lexa lies easily. Clarke doesn't need to know how Lexa's mind is racing with thoughts of her, or how strongly her body is reacting to Clarke being near.

            “Okay,” Clarke replies. “I think I'll be ready to start the painting soon. I think this is it. I had something completely different in mind but when I saw your tattoos it just clicked.”

            “I'm glad,” Lexa says. “I'm sorry you have to do this to begin with.”

            “I'm not,” Clarke says. “The other one was shit anyway, but this one? This one is going to be amazing. I really can't thank you enough for this. I know I'm basically a complete stranger-”

            “Do you want to get that drink tomorrow night?” Lexa asks, looking over her shoulder at a very surprised looking Clarke with graphite smudges on her cheek and fingers, blue eyes wide.

            “Yeah,” she says immediately. “Of course.”

            “I'll meet you at Grounders. Is eight all right for you?”

            “Y-Yeah. Eight's fine. Great even.”

            “Good,” Lexa says and puts her head back down. Clarke doesn't sketch for very much longer. She must have set a timer, because from her pocket her phone starts to beep rapidly.

            “Thanks for being good with the whole shirt thing. Probably not something you get asked all that much.”

            “Surprisingly,” Lexa says dryly, earning an amused chuckle from Clarke. She checks that Clarke's not looking before reaching for her shirt, covering the art inked into her skin and the memories they hold. “Until tomorrow?” she asks, doing up the last button on her shirt.

            “Yeah,” Clarke replies. She looks at Lexa through her lashes. Lexa feels herself inhale. She leaves Clarke alone with her art.

 

            Head full, she goes to the studio. It's late, but there's always an empty room. She puts her hair into a bun, fishes her phone out of her bag, and plugs it into the speaker set in the corner. She stretches her arms and legs, rolls her neck and shakes the tension out of her limbs. The music fills the room to the brim, too loud for Lexa to think over. She pictures Lincoln in front of her, her arms and hands raised in position around an invisible partner, and begins to dance, her feet sliding gracefully over the floor.

            She kicks her shoes off, unbuttons her shirt and rolls up the sleeves and wishes she had on different pants, but she'll have to make due. Sweat is building on the back of her neck. It makes her feel clean, oddly enough, at least until the adrenaline wears off. She goes through the routine until her feet start to ache then does it once more just for good measure. By the time she's finished her ears are ringing and her heart is pounding, her hair and clothes damp with sweat. But the tension in the pit of her stomach is gone, and that's worth the aching muscles and hot skin.

            She packs up and leaves as quickly as she came. The cold air hits her like a shockwave, but she doesn't bother putting on her coat. She's shivering by the time she gets home, the sweat on her skin long cooled and goosebumps having taken its place. She dumps her things, ignores Anya's questioning call, and goes straight into a shower. As she washes off the sweat of her practice, she can't help but think she's washing off the remains of Clarke's touch as well.


	4. Somewhere Only We Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Somewhere Only We Know - Keane

Her focus isn't on school come Friday. Normally she's nothing but attentive, but her attention wanders to that night and her date with Clarke. Not that it's an actual date, but Lexa doesn't know what else to call it. Their relationship is nothing short of awkward. It's too intimate to be just acquaintances, but too impersonal to truly be a friendship. Is that what Lexa even wants out of it? She's helping Clarke out of guilt and responsibility, but she has no other obligation to her. After Clarke's painting is finished there's nothing to keep them from going their separate ways. But just the thought of that makes Lexa's stomach clench, and that alone raises her anxiety level. She's used to being the one in control of her emotions, not the other way around, yet it doesn't occur to her to text Clarke and say she can't make it. She won't make herself into a liar.

            At home she picks through her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. She wants to look nice and make a good impression, but there's a thin line that she doesn't want to cross between nice and too nice and nice and too casual. Anya just interrogates and teases her, as usual, instead of helping her make a decision.

            “I don't know why you're making such a big deal about this. It's just a drink.”

            “I'm aware of that, thank you.”

            Anya picks up one of the shirts Lexa had discarded. “So why don't you just wear jeans and a t-shirt and stop trying to make your room look like a hurricane blew through.”

            “Because-”

            “Because what? It's not a date, you said so yourself.” She throws the shirt at Lexa's face.

            “You are such an enormous pain.”

            “That's why you love me, little sister,” Anya replies with a smirk. She nudges Lexa away from the closet, picks out a light t-shirt and a dark blazer, and thrusts them into Lexa's arms. “There. Add a pair of jeans and you're casual but nice. Now get dressed and get your ass out of here or you're going to be late. It's not exactly a short walk to the bar and there's no way you're going to get a cab at prime time on a Friday night.”

            Affection shows through Lexa's annoyance. “Thanks.”

            Anya smiles. “Knock her dead, kiddo.”

            “It's not-” But Anya is already down the hall, not listening to anything that comes out of her mouth. Lexa sighs and strips off her clothes to change. She knows Anya's right, as usual. Whenever it comes to Lexa her judgement is remarkably unclouded. Lexa knows she's making too big a deal over something simple. More than once Anya has told her she's overly dramatic. Maybe she's right, at least this once. Lexa dresses and pins up her hair, damp from a post school shower. She completes the outfit with a nice pair of boots and tugs her coat on over the blazer. She can't help think maybe it's a bit too much, but if she changes now Anya will probably kill her, so she forces herself to leave.

            Outside she shrinks into her coat against the bitter cold. She's not the only one forced to walk. Anya was exaggerating when she said it's not a short walk to the bar, but it's definitely a chilly one. Lexa's nose feels frozen by the time she turns onto Main St. and sees the sign for the building. She checks her watch. It's only quarter of. She's early. Too early. She hopes Clarke doesn't think she's over eager. She's just punctual, that's all. And it's too cold to stand outside. It's early for a Friday but Grounders is still crowded. There's no hope for a seat at the bar, but Lexa does manage to find a booth where she can see the front door if she cranes her neck and that'll have to do. She orders a glass of wine and waits. Eight rolls around and still no sign of Clarke. Lexa doesn't let it bother her, but when it starts to get later and later she starts to overthink. When it's half past she's resigned herself to the fact that Clarke isn't coming and starts to count out cash for her bill when she hears a familiar voice shout her name.

            “Thank god you're still here! I'm so. Sorry. Octavia had a thing and I just couldn't get away.” She throws herself into the seat across from Lexa. “What are we drinking?”

            “Pinot,” Lexa says. Her heart is pounding. She wonders if Clarke knows that she has paint in her hair, poking out from beneath the knit beanie she must have jammed on her head just before leaving. Her whole outfit looks hastily cobbled together. She says something about needing the bathroom and getting a drink of her own while she's at it, but all Lexa knows is the way her jeans cling to the shape of her legs, and the bottom of a t-shirt just visible under an oversized hoodie. She feels more drunk than she is.

            “I'll get the drinks,” she hears herself say. Compared to Clarke she's definitely overdressed. Clarke doesn't seem to care. Maybe she hasn't noticed. She fiddles with the button on her blazer while she waits for the bartender to fill the order; another pinot for her, and a beer for Clarke. She gets back to the table first, and it's another minute before Clarke returns. A minute that Lexa spends wondering if she got ditched after all until Clarke flops across from her and complains about the line in the bathroom.

            “Might as well just accept it,” she sighs, grabbing the neck of her beer bottle and taking a swig that exposes her throat and makes Lexa swallow over a lump in her own. “Gonna have to brave it again before the night is out whether I want to or not.” She smiles, showing teeth. “How are you?”

            “Fine,” Lexa replies automatically, like she always does when she's asked that question, even with Anya. “Fine, thanks. I'm glad you came.”

            “I'm glad you asked. It's nice to get the chance to talk to you outside of your modelling. You know you're a natural at that?”

            “I didn't,” Lexa says. It's true, but she has a guess as to where that “natural” talent comes from. Her parents might want her to run the family business, but they never denied her her passion.

            “It's nice, not having to direct someone. You just sort of... know what I want without me having to tell you. Makes this whole thing a lot easier. _Don't_ apologize.” Lexa snaps her mouth shut, a very light blush covering her cheeks. “Believe it or not I actually like spending time with you.”

            Lexa doesn't know why she giggles, but she does. “I do, too,” she says.

            “Maybe we should do things like this more often then?” Clarke ventures, her voice hesitant even though she's trying to sound cocky. Lexa's stomach does a flip. Clarke is confident; unafraid. They're qualities that Lexa shares, but not in the same way.

            “Maybe,” she says. Clarke accepts it without batting an eye.

            “So what do you do outside of school?” she asks. Her interest, genuine, is strange to Lexa. She has her friends – Anya and Lincoln and the rest of the crew – but that's different. They're practically family. Clarke is a stranger.

            The wine gives her courage. “I dance.”

            Clarke's face lights up. “Really? That's awesome. When did you start?”

            “When I was five or six.”

            “What kind?”

            “Ballroom. Some modern.”

            “That's so cool,” Clarke breathes out. Half of her beer is gone. The wine is going to Lexa's head. “So it's like, your whole life? Same with me and art. It wasn't until high school that I figured it out, though. I can't dance for shit, though.”

            “That's okay,” Lexa says, feeling her lips curve into a smile, “I can't draw.”

            Clarke giggles, a happy, bubbly sound that makes Lexa's grin grow.

            “I'll teach you if you teach me,” Clarke says.

            “Deal,” Lexa replies before she can really think about it. There's a challenging glint in Clarke's eyes, and Lexa has never backed down from a challenge.

 

            She doesn't let Clarke walk her home, despite having admitted that she lives relatively close, but she does wait outside for an Uber with her, the two of them huddled together against the cold, arms and shoulders and toes touching. Clarke's teeth are chattering. Her hoodie is too thin for cold north-east winters. Maybe it's the wine, but Lexa unravels her scarf from her neck and loops it around Clarke's. It's a good knit scarf, and probably the most colourful thing Lexa owns. It matches the paint in Clarke's hair, and the blue of her surprised eyes.

            “Don't you-”

            “I don't have far to walk,” Lexa says. “You need it more.”

            “Thanks,” Clarke says in a shocked voice. She picks at it like it's the most amazing thing in the world. Lexa tries to not think about grabbing it and pulling Clarke in, about how pink her lips are compared to her nose and cheeks, turned bright red from the cold. The car pulls up right as she's starting to lose the battle and she thanks whatever god exists for small mercies.

            “I had fun,” Clarke says. “I guess I'll see you on Tuesday?” There's a tiny lisp on her s's.

            “Yeah.”

            “Okay, well, by then.” Then she's standing on her toes to press a kiss to Lexa's cheek and getting in the car, leaving Lexa standing with a face that's red from more than just the cold. _Shit._

            She's completely frozen by the time she gets back to the apartment. It's not late for a Friday but Anya is already in bed and it's dark and quiet inside. Lexa navigates without turning a light on and skips a shower to wash off the bar smell clinging to her clothes and hair. Instead, she strips down to nothing, pulls her hair tie out and throws herself onto her bed. The blankets are cold but they warm up quickly when she wraps them around herself and closes her eyes. In the darkness she sees Clarke's face and the dried paint in her hair. No matter how hard she presses her cheek into the cold side of her pillow she can still feel Clarke's lips on her skin.

            Her phone pings when she's half asleep. She gropes for it and squints into the light.

 

            //Clarke: Just thought I'd let u know I'm home now 12:03AM

            //Clarke: Thanks for the scarf 12:03AM

 

                Lexa doesn't respond – she doesn't know what to say – but a pleasant warmth swells gently in her chest and she falls asleep clutching her phone beneath her chin.


	5. Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Palace - Halsey
> 
> I have mono.

Clarke sits on her bed, her coat and Lexa's scarf thrown across the stool she uses when she paints. It's late, but she's not tired. Not that she could sleep if she was. Her head is full of Lexa. Her sketchbook is open across her lap, the page turned to her latest sketches. Lexa's never seen, but if she did she would probably think Clarke's insane. There's drawings that Lexa doesn't know about, done on the in between days when Clarke is bored and can't think of anything else. It's definitely a problem, and it's one that not even Octavia knows about. Her first impression of Lexa isn't exactly the best thing, though. All she knows is that Clarke worked really hard on her final and then bumped into someone and ruined it.

            Her phone sits next to her, the screen black. Lexa didn't reply. Clarke isn't surprised, but it would be nice to know that she got home safe, too. She won't text again, though. But she can't sleep. She flips through the pages in her book until she finds the sketches she wants, and digs out a fresh canvas from her closet, carefully wiping dust off of its surface. With a quick lighting adjustment she's ready to start outlining. She had a different painting in mind at first, but now all she can see when she closes her eyes is Lexa in her bed, naked from the waist up with her tattoos on full display, the black ink stark against her pale skin.

 

            It must be close to three in the morning by the time Clarke finally starts nodding off. She's pretty good at drawing from memory, and her sketches help, but she knows that's nothing compared to painting with the source in front of her. She hopes Lexa won't mind, and she hopes she can control herself with all of that smooth, pale skin on display. She could hardly stop herself touching Lexa the last time and who knows what'll happen if she's faced with that again. She nearly falls off the stool for the third time before she makes herself stop and get in bed. She doesn't mean to fall asleep with Lexa's scarf by her face, it just happens, and when she does notice she's too comfortable to move and the wool is warm and smells good and she's just too tired to care.

            She regrets it the next morning when she wakes up to her alarm blaring reminding her that she does have a job even if she loves doing it. She drags herself out of bed and through what barely passes as a morning routine and hastily gets dressed. She doesn't think twice about wrapping Lexa's scarf around her neck. It keeps the lower half of her face warm during her half walk half jog to the gallery where she spends her weekends slaving away. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else, though. In the art world connections are often more important than talent and Clarke needs all the help she can get on that front.

            But work is still work, and Clarke is tired and grumpy and the only thing she wants to do is go back to sleep. She doesn't have to do much but clean and do set up for the exhibit being put on display the next weekend. It's boring busy work. Moving wakes Clarke up but it doesn't stop her wanting to go back to her painting, not that she can do much more of quality without Lexa there to model for her. She looks at the dance studio across the road through the large gallery windows and wonders where Lexa practices, if she still does. Clarke hopes she does. It's a terrible thing to be denied art, something Clarke knows first hand.

            Octavia is home and the apartment smells like food when Clarke finally walks through the front door yawning.

            “Oven,” Octavia says. Clarke retrieves her still warm plate from said oven. “Work okay?”

            “Work was work.”

            “Should I expect a visit from Lexa?”

            “It's not one of her days.”

            “Seems to me you might want her over more than she is.”

            “What's that supposed to mean?”

            Octavia shrugs. “Doesn't mean anything. Just saying, _objectively_ , that she's attractive, and it's been a while since you got laid.”

            “I don't make a habit of sleeping with my models,” Clarke says.

            Octavia scoffs. “Sorry, are we forgetting about Niylah?”

            “That was different,” Clarke replies.

            “Doesn't look much different from where I'm standing.”

            “It was one time!”

            Octavia gives Clarke a look that says she knows otherwise. “It was definitely more than one time. You two weren't exactly quiet.” Clarke has the decency to blush.

            “Okay the point is that my relationship with Lexa is strictly professional. She won't be over until Tuesday night.”

            “Better make sure I have plans.”

            “O!”

            “I'm serious! I've been scarred enough by your sexcapades.”

            “As if I haven't had to listen to you and Lincoln going at it multiple times,” Clarke deadpans.

            “At least we keep it in the bedroom,” Octavia shoots back. Clarke doesn't have a response to that. Octavia is right. Clarke's adventures in the bedroom haven't always stayed _in_ the bedroom. She takes her food to her bedroom, ignoring Octavia shouting after her to not leave the plate in her room. She kicks the door shut and sits back down in front of her picture, shoving a forkful of food in her mouth. She wipes her fingers off on her jeans before reaching for her pencil. The basic outline is done, but when it comes to her art Clarke is a perfectionist, and there's always something for her to fix. Her mind has been stuck on Lexa all day anyway; she might as well do something productive with her thoughts.

            She has to refer to her sketches to check the details of Lexa's tattoos. She might not know the meaning behind them, but she knows they're important and she wants to make sure she gets them right. If she didn't have to rush to get the painting done in time for school she would spend far longer on everything. As it is, she has to rush. Not ideal, but she has to do what she can even without Lexa in her bed.

            That thought stops her. She can't deny that she finds the thought appealing, just as she can't deny how her body reacts to it. Her mouth feels dry just remember how Lexa looked the last time. She needs the painting finished before she does something she regrets. The last thing she needs is another Niylah.


	6. Sleepyhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Sleepyhead (Starsmith Remix) - Ellie Goulding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sill have mono but I'm less of a sickie. I do have a summer class 4 days a week though.

“Wrong,” Anya says. Lexa throws her hands up with a sigh and steps away from Lincoln, who wipes his face with his shirt and leaves the middle of the floor to grab a water from his bag. “You screwed up those steps again.”

            “No, I didn't,” Lexa says with a tight jaw. It's the third time Anya has stopped them in the middle of their routine and Lexa is _tired_ , and she still has homework to do before she can turn off for the night. They don't normally practice on Mondays, but there had been some special event at the studio last night and they'd had to reschedule. As a result, Anya has been pushing them both even harder. She doesn't know how Lincoln can stand it. It's probably because he doesn't have to live with Anya. Lexa's just about ready to throttle her and it's only been just over an hour. Anya stops the music and throws her a towel. Lexa pats her soaked face, hiding a scowl in the fluff.

            “You usually don't make this many mistakes,” she hears Anya say and sighs heavily. “I know you're tired, Lexa, but the show is only a couple of weeks away. We need this to be perfect.” Lexa doesn't reply. She's tired, true, but she's also distracted and the culprit is Clarke. No matter what she does she can't get the artist out of her mind. There's something in Clarke's eyes whenever she looks at Lexa that sends shivers down her spine. She doesn't know if Clarke is aware of it or not, but it definitely hasn't passed under Lexa's notice. It's been driving her crazy ever since Friday night. She can't figure out if their drinks counted as a date or not, and she's not sure which answer she wants. A year ago she would have known, but a lot has changed since then.

            A sudden sharp but brief pain flares at the back of her head. Lexa lifts her hand to the throbbing area and whirls around to see Anya standing with her hands on her hips, glaring. A half empty water bottle rolls slowly away from Lexa's feet.

            “Earth to Lexa,” Anya says. “I said we'll run it one more time before we go home.”

            Lexa exhales and tosses her towel towards her bag, quickly stretching before her and Lincoln take up their starting position once more. Anya starts the music and off they go, whirling across the floor. This time, Lexa doesn't make any mistakes.

 

            When she gets out of the shower after her and Anya have finally gotten home, the notification light on her phone is steadily blinking. Lexa holds her towel to her chest with one hand and fluffs her damp hair with the other as she crosses the room.

 

            //Clarke: Do u still dance? 6:13PM

           

            Lexa frowns. It's not an overly personal question, but it strikes Lexa as unusual.

           

            \\\Yes, why? 6:45PM

            //Clarke: Just curious. Where? 6:45PM

            \\\Downtown. 6:46PM

            //Clarke: No. Shit. Across from an art gallery? 6:46PM

            \\\Yes? 6:46PM

            //Clarke: I work there! Maybe I'll get to see u dance someday! 6:46PM

 

            Lexa's heart starts pounding. Her dancing isn't exactly a secret, but it's something she does for her and her alone. The thought of Clarke seeing her... It feels almost like an intrusion. Aside from her family and small group of close friends, the only other person who has ever seen her dance was – no, Lexa won't think of her. They ended a long time ago.

           

            \\\Maybe. 6:49PM

 

                She throws her phone down, drops her towel, and changes into sweats and a loose shirt. Her homework taunts her from her desk. She sits to work on it but it doesn't keep her attention for long. Again her mind drifts to Clarke. She rubs the back of her neck and lifts her hair off her warm skin, lazily tying it up. Her hand travels down the front of her chest, fingers brushing against her sternum. It's been a long time since she was naked in someone else's bed. It's been a long time since she was naked in her _own_ bed, hot summer nights aside. Lying in Clarke's... She presses her thighs together again a faint but sudden ache and puts down the pen in her other hand. Her thoughts are gone from her notes, instead on the blue of Clarke's eyes, the shape of her lips, the cleft in her chin.

            It doesn't help that she can pull off the oversized sweater and skinny jeans combo that Lexa never managed to make look good.

            She leans back in her chair, runs her hands over her face. No. Not now. She picks up her pen again and forces herself to pay attention to her homework. Her feelings for Clarke might not be going anywhere, but it certainly will if she doesn't finish it.

 

            All she can think about the next day is that she gets to see Clarke that night. She still hasn't quite figured out if they're friends or not, but has the feeling that maybe they could be. Maybe. She's tired and she hopes it doesn't show too badly. The previous night had been... tedious to say the least. Lexa blushes at her memories. It's been a long time since she's been driven to deal with her desire outright, rather than just ignore it for more pressing matters. Clarke is the first person to affect her since she laid eyes on Costia, all those years ago. It's frightening. But she couldn't help herself. The look in Clarke's eyes when Lexa is lying half naked in her bed followed her into her dreams and when she woke in the middle of the night sweating and aching it had just been too much. Feeling awkward when she knocks on Clarke's front door is an understatement. At least it's Clarke who answers, and not her roommate. Lexa has the distinct feeling that Octavia could smell it on her, whatever _it_ is.

            Clarke's smile steals her breath away. “Hey. Come on in.” She opens the door wide, revealing bottles of beer and a closed pizza box on the coffee table. “So, I probably should have asked first but I figured maybe we could just chill tonight. I need a break from art or my hand is going to fall off.” Lexa pauses in the middle of removing a scarf she nicked from Anya's closet, gaze flicking between the food and Clarke's expectant face.

            “Okay,” she says and Clarke's face lights up like a Christmas tree. Clarke steps back to let her in and Lexa removes her coat and scarf, then kicks her shoes off after a second of hesitation. “Oh, I'll be right back,” Clarke says quickly and zips down the hall. She comes back with Lexa's scarf, neatly folded in her hands. “Thanks for letting me borrow this,” Clarke says, her cheeks and nose a very light shade of pink, like she's embarrassed. Lexa doesn't question it, just smiles and tucks the scarf away in her coat pocket.

            “So... what kind of pizza?”

            “The best in town,” Clarke replies with a grin that makes Lexa's heart flutter. Clarke cracks the box open and the smell of good, greasy pizza quickly fills the room. Lexa's stomach grumbles on cue. It's Lexa's turn to blush, and Clarke's to smirk. She puts a large piece on a paper plate for Lexa and makes herself comfy on the sofa.

            They don't talk much and Lexa doesn't argue over Clarke's choice of TV show even though it's cringe-worthy housewives of whatever-esque reality crap. Good for background noise and maybe a laugh but otherwise devoid of value, and certainly not something Lexa would ever watch on her own. Somehow she gets dragged into it, though, as they chow down on pizza and sip at their beers. Lexa hates the taste, but she's not about to ask Clarke if she has the kind of wine that Lexa prefers. Honestly anything that makes her feel less awkward will do. At least she doesn't have to make conversation. Yet. She can't help but feel like this is something of a date, like she did when they got together for drinks.

            They're two beers in before Clarke finally asks a question that nearly makes Lexa choke on her drink. “So why don't you just quit school and do dancing? It's pretty obvious you don't really care about your major.”

            “It's not that simple, Clarke,” Lexa replies in a strained voice, trying not to cough.

            “What, like, you can't make money from it? I have trouble making money off my art but I do it anyway.”

            “No, it's... just more complicated than you're making it sound. There's a lot of personal interests tied up in my schooling.”

            “What like your entire family is going to starve if you don't graduate with a business degree at the top of your class and go on to be a self-made billionaire or something?”

            Lexa takes a nervous sip of her beer. “Well, not exactly. No one will starve, but...”

            Clarke's eyes go wide. “Oh my god you're fucking rich, aren't you?”

            Lexa blushes and blames it on the beer. “I'm not,” she clarifies. “My family is.”

            She expects Clarke to linger on the “you come from money” bit, but she drives right on. “So what do they need you for?”

            “To take over.” Why is she telling Clarke this? She never talks about it, with anyone. She hardly even tells Anya. “But they won't let me unless I have the education to back it up, even though I know how the company works inside and out. I could run it with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.”

            “So tell them to fuck off,” Clarke says firmly. “If you don't want it, why bother? Isn't being happy worth more?” Lexa doesn't answer. Whatever Clarke takes her silence for she doesn't push. “I told you my parents wanted so bad for me to go to med school and they gave me so much shit about it and I was tempted to give in just so they would shut up, but I didn't and I'm glad I didn't. I would have hated myself. I know it's your family, but maybe you should disappoint them just this once. It's your life, not theirs.”

            The silence when Clarke finishes speaking is dampened by the sound of the TV but that doesn't make it any less heavy. She should be angry. After all, who is Clarke to make judgements on Lexa's life? She doesn't know her. She doesn't know how hard Lexa has fought for everything. She might come from money but she's never been given anything. She's not spoiled. She wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth. But Clarke isn't judging. Lexa feels the tension in her jaw relax. She finishes her beer and leans back into the sofa, eyes closing. She doesn't fall asleep but her focus wavers and it takes several minutes for her to notice the soft scratching of a pencil on paper. She opens an eye to see Clarke casually sketching in her notebook. Clarke glances up briefly and pauses, as if waiting for permission.

            “Can I see?” Lexa asks. Clarke's hesitation is visible, but she slowly turns the pad towards Lexa. It's just a simple sketch of Lexa lounging with her cheek propped up on her palm.

            “I get the impression you hardly ever look this relaxed,” Clarke explains. “Couldn't resist. Not my best work, but.”

            “It's great,” Lexa says. “I could never do anything like that.” She leans forward to get a closer look. “Is that really me?”

            “It's how I see you,” Clarke replies. Lexa's gaze shoots up to meet hers. They're not terribly close, but Lexa's hand is braced on the cushion between them and it wouldn't take much to bump it against Clarke's leg. Clarke's hair is falling messily from under her beanie and into her face and Lexa's fingers ache to push it behind her ear. Clarke's lips are slightly parted and full and pink and -

            She quickly pushes herself up. “It's late.”

            “Yeah.”

            “I should probably go.”

            “Yeah.” It's an effort to get herself to move, but she does, aware of Clarke's eyes on her the entire time. “Thursday?” Clarke calls after her. Lexa's throat is too tight to speak but she manages a nod as she wraps her scarf around her neck. Somehow it smells like Clarke.  When she glances back over her shoulder, Clarke is lounged across the sofa, looking only at her.

            “Thursday,” Lexa says. She could be wrong but she thinks Clarke's gaze is fixed on her lips as they move.


	7. Bad Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Bad Intentions - Niykee Heaton

\\\What're you up to? 3:31PM

            //Lexa: Studio. 3:34PM

            \\\But it's wednesday? I thought u only went on sunday 3:34PM

            //Lexa: I know. 3:38PM

 

            Clarke stares out the gallery windows at the studio across the street, tapping her phone against her chin. She's done in twenty minutes and there's a Chinese place up the street she usually gets food from when she can afford it. Maybe Lexa would appreciate it. Clarke may not know her _well_ , but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Lexa is a schedule oriented person. Being at the studio in the middle of the week is probably throwing her off her game. And besides, Clarke is right here...

            She doesn't know what Lexa likes, so she just guesses. She lingers outside the studio, maybe for a bit longer than necessary before heading in. There's a bored looking woman at the front desk who glances up when the door opens. She raises a brow.

            “Uh, I'm looking for a friend,” Clarke says. “Said to meet her here. Her name is Lexa? Tall, brown hair...”

            The woman glances at the computer screen in front of her. “Second door on the left. Don't make a mess.” Clarke pulls a face and leaves the woman alone. Clarke's never seen the inside of a dance studio before, but it looks nice, if a bit small. Private. She wonders if that's why Lexa chose it. She knocks on the closed door but she can hear music thumping behind it and cracks it open without bothering to wait for an answer. Judging from what she sees, she doubts Lexa would have heard.

            Clarke's seen Lexa half naked but never so casual, in a sports bra and sweats, her hair loose and flying as her body moves. Clarke isn't a dancer but she knows plenty of them, and she never pegged Lexa as the kind of person who would have any interest in hip-hop but that's definitely what's playing and that's definitely Lexa doing way too much hip movement and touching herself. Clarke clutches her brown paper bag like its a lifeline. Lexa still hasn't noticed her. In the bright studio lights Clarke can see sweat glistening on her body and she knows that Lexa has abs but _god_ she never thought she had abs like _this_. Lexa turns sharply, head snapping up. Her green eyes go wide and she stops mid-motion.

            “Clarke?” she says over the music, then quickly moves to turn it off. She grabs a shirt she must have discarded and wipes her face with it. “What're you doing here?” She doesn't sound upset, just surprised. Clarke's ears are ringing and she can feel her heart hammering in her chest. She manages some words at least.

            “Well, you said you were here and I'm just across the street so...” She hoists the bag and sees Lexa's nose twitch. “I really hope you like Chinese.”

            Lexa looks like a deer caught in headlights when she says, “Um, yeah.”

            “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. You can finish. I'll wait. Unless you don't want me to.”

            “It doesn't bother me. I'm used to being watched.” It doesn't stop Clarke from feeling voyeuristic. She takes her brown plastic bag and sits in a corner, well away from the dance floor. Lexa turns the music back on, flips through tracks, and stretches while the music builds. Clarke's mouth goes dry. If she wasn't fucked before this she definitely is now. Her eyes don't leave the muscles of Lexa's abdomen and hips, watching them stretch and flex and twist with the movements of her body. Lexa dances for a few minutes longer until an alarm that's somehow louder than the music blares.

            Lexa is panting and sweaty and her hair is sticking to her forehead and neck and god Clarke is going to explode in about two seconds if she doesn't stop looking. She closest her eyes for just long enough to breathe.

            “I assume you'd rather not eat here?” she hears Lexa say. Clarke nods. “Are you okay coming to my place then? I really need a shower.”

            Clarke blinks her eyes open. Lexa isn't looking at her, thank fuck. “You sure?”

            “I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't. As long as you don't mind waiting.”

            “It's fine,” Clarke says as she gets to her feet. Lexa has patted most of the sweat off her body and pulled on a hoodie, but all Clarke sees is bare skin. Lexa quickly binds up her hair and grabs a duffel bag Clarke hadn't noticed before. She follows Lexa out and they share a silent walk to a part of town where Clarke's only been once or twice. There isn't anything particularly fancy about Lexa's building. It's not much different from Clarke's. The inside's a bit nicer and Clarke doesn't feel like she's going to be mugged if she stays out too late.

            She takes a good long look around Lexa's apartment when she's let inside. The first thing she notices is that it's very, very clean. Lexa glances at a note left on the kitchen counter then tosses it into the trash, looking like something between amused and annoyed. Clarke shifts her weight from foot to foot.

            “You can leave the bag here and make yourself comfortable. I won't be long.” Clarke's not sure how she can be comfortable when she knows Lexa is going to be naked and wet just down the hall, and she doesn't know why that's somehow worse than Lexa being half naked in her own bed. Clarke sits on a barstool and picks through the food. It's gone cold, but she doesn't want to screw around with anything in the kitchen and risk setting everything on fire. Down the hall she hears the sharp hiss of water turning on, followed by the steady thud of it hitting the tub bottom. She tries very, very hard not to think about completely naked, sweat-covered Lexa. It's very, very hard not to.

            Lexa is either a quick shower taker or she's going fast for Clarke's sake. Either way she's not long in the bathroom before emerging in a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt, her hair loose and damp around her shoulders and glasses perched on her nose. A cocktail of emotions swirls in her eyes.

            “Food's gone cold,” Clarke says. Lexa plucks up the bag and sticks it in the microwave Clarke was too afraid to touch.

            “Why did you really come to see me today?” she asks with her back turned.

            “I wanted to.” Her stomach swirls with anxiety. “And I was right there, so. You're really good.”

            “Thank you,” Lexa says. The microwave dings and when Lexa opens it the smell of Chinese floods the room. She grabs plates for them both and lets Clarke distribute the food. “Thank you,” Lexa says again when she sits. “For... I don't have very many friends.” Her words feel heavy. “By choice.”

            “And us?” Clarke asks. “Are we friends?”

            “Yes,” Lexa says. Clarke's heart somehow manages to rise and fall at the same time. Lexa considers Clarke her friend. Great. Lexa considers Clarke her _friend_. Perfect.

            “Thanks for inviting me over,” Clarke says dully.

            “Of course,” Lexa replies, like it's nothing, but it's something. “It's the least I can do. You have to suffer me being in your bed all the time.”

            “I don't mind it,” Clarke says. “It's kind of nice, actually.” She blushes, and so does Lexa. The air thickens. Clarke swallows and tries to speak but her tongue won't move. She just clears her throat instead. “Are you still coming tomorrow?” Her blush spreads down her neck.

            “Of course,” Lexa repeats.

            “I really can’t thank you enough for this,” Clarke says.

            Lexa meets her eyes and offers a smile. “You don’t need to thank me, Clarke,” she replies. There’s a certain way she says Clarke’s voice. Sharply, but soft at the same time. With reverence. It sends shivers down Clarke’s spine. “I owe you, anyway.”

            “You don’t owe me anything, Lexa. I don’t even care about the painting any more. I mean I do, but, meeting you was definitely worth the ruined canvas.” Lexa’s smile is the brightest thing Clarke’s seen in her life. Brighter than the sun.

            She leaves not long after. Lexa mentioned offhand that she had work to do and Clarke doesn’t want to get in the way. Lexa looks sad when Clarke says goodbye. Kind of like a kicked puppy. Clarke doesn’t want to be the person who kicked the puppy. Lexa will be over tomorrow. Just one day.

One day that takes forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably mono free but I have a shitton of school work. 2 weeks left until the summer session is over.


	8. From Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: From Eden - Hozier

It’s the middle of the night and Lexa is wide awake. In the room next to hers she can faintly hear whatever show Anya is watching, occasionally accompanied by a bout of quiet laughter. Lexa’s laptop sits on her desk in the corner. She could get up and get it… but it’s cold in the apartment and her bed is warm. She stares up at her ceiling in the dark, her eyes burning with fatigue, then fumbles for her phone. It takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the light, even though its dim. She opens her messages and finds her thread with Clarke. It’s late. Really late. Past midnight late. Normally Lexa would be asleep by now. Her thumbs hesitate over the keyboard. Clarke’s probably awake. She seems like the kind of person who would be.

She starts to type out a message but her tired fingers slip and before she can stop it a Facetime call is ringing and Clarke is answering, highlighted in the harsh blue light of her phone.

“Hi?” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says quickly. “I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Clarke says before Lexa can end the chat. “I was just thinking about you actually.” Lexa feels herself blush and is glad that it’s too dark for Clarke to see.

“Oh. Really? Why?”

“Just about the painting,” Clarke says quickly. She sounds a bit breathless. Lexa hears static as she shifts in her bed and sees a blanket come up under Clarke’s chin.

“Oh,” Lexa says. She can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. “I’m sorry for calling. I just meant to text. I don’t know why. I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t either,” Clarke says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“School,” Lexa lies. She can’t say it’s because she’s been kept away by thoughts of Clarke. Can she? “I have a presentation tomorrow.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person to get nervous about that.”

“I’m not, particularly.”

“So why are you now?” Clarke asks.

“I don’t know.” She stifles a yawn. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Just too much on my mind,” Clarke replies. Lexa rubs at a tired eye with her free hand. “You should go to sleep.”

“I know,” Lexa replies.

There’s a lengthy pause before Clarke speaks again. “Do you want me to stay?”

Lexa’s heart leaps up into her throat. She swallows hard. Her voice comes out raspy when she speaks. “I would like that.”

“Okay,” Clarke says. Lexa closes her eyes.

When she wakes up to her alarm going off the call has long disconnected (on its own, from what Lexa can tell) and her phone is on half charge. She mumbles a curse and leaves her phone to keep charging while she pulls her tired body out of bed and into the shower. The hot spray helps to wake her up, but she lingers for longer than usual and the rest of her morning routine is rushed because of it. She still can’t quite bring herself to believe that she fell asleep with Clarke. Sort of. In a way. She would have hung up, but she was so tired, and Clarke being there gave her comfort she didn’t even know she needed. Something is happening between the two of them. She can feel it and she’s sure Clarke can, too. The problem is Lexa isn’t sure if she’s ready for whatever it is to continue.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she hears from behind her.

“They’re not very interesting,” Lexa replies.

Anya scoffs and sits next to her on the sofa with a bowl of cereal. “I beg to differ. There’s always something interesting going on in that head of yours. Is it the artist?”

“She has a name.”

“I know,” Anya says. “Tell me about her.”

“It’s nothing. I’m seeing her today, that’s all.”

“You see her every week. Why are you acting oddly today?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa says through a sigh. “Something just feels different. I accidentally Facetimed her last night and we ended up falling asleep on the phone, or at least I did, and…”

“It’s okay to move on, Lex,” Anya says softly. She gives Lexa’s shoulder a squeeze. “I know you still think that you could have fixed things with Costia, but breaking up was the right thing for both of you and you know that.”

Lexa closes her eyes and leans back with a familiar ache in her chest. Anya’s right. Anya’s always right. Lexa just doesn’t like to admit it. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Just let whatever happens happen,” Anya say. Lexa rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. Get out of your head. Stop thinking about your life and start living it. Now get your ass up or you’re going to be late.” When Lexa opens her eyes Anya is smiling and she knows her sister is right. She always is, when it comes to Lexa. There’s no one who knows her better, except for Costia. But maybe Clarke can know her well one day, too.

She kills her presentation. She wasn’t actually nervous about it to begin with, but it was a better option than telling Clarke the real reason why she hadn’t been able to sleep. It’s not until she’s on her way from class to Clarke’s apartment that her nerves decide to kick in. At first its manageable and she can push it away easily enough but the closer she gets to Clarke’s the stronger the feeling gets until she has to stop on the side of the street and lean against a building until she can get her breathing back to normal. Something is going to happen tonight. She doesn’t know what but she can feel it in her bones. Anya’s told her time and time again since her break-up with Costia that she’s allowed to move on. She’s allowed to find love again. Lexa’s been too afraid to try. Memories of Costia still haunt her. They had been so happy. So perfect together. She’s spent too much of the past year trying to figure out where things started to go so wrong.

There must be something on her face when she knocks on the door because Clarke’s look of excitement immediately morphs into concern. “What’s wrong?” Lexa opens her mouth to say nothing but it’s exactly that that comes out. Clarke ushers her inside and nudges her over to the sofa. “Sit.” Lexa sits. She still wearing her coat and scarf and shoes but Clarke doesn’t seem like she’s about to let Lexa use that as an excuse to wriggle out of her interrogation. She sits close, her knees touching Lexa’s, and fixes Lexa with a pointed look. “Talk.”

“I don’t know how to.” It’s probably the most honest thing she’s ever said to Clarke. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Clarke asks.

“I don’t know,” Lexa says again. Frustration builds in her chest. She pushes it down with a deep breath. “Do you… like being around me? Spending time with me?”

Clarke’s brow furrows ever so slightly. “Yeah, why?”

“If it wasn’t for your art project would you still want to?”

“Of course I would. What’s wrong?”

Lexa shakes her head. Her hands are shaking so she folds them in her lap. “Can we start?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Clarke says. “We can just chill. It’s okay.”

“No,” Lexa says. “I want to.”

Clarke looks at her for a long few seconds, then shrugs her shoulders. “Okay.” She goes to the bedroom while Lexa removes her outer layers before following. Clarke doesn’t look while she undresses, and Lexa wishes that she would. Anya’s words ring in her head. _It’s okay_ , she tells herself. _It’s okay._


	9. Eyelids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Eyelids - Pvris
> 
> Y'all are gonna kill me.

A few adjustments to the blanket covering the naked body in front of her and Clarke is ready to begin. Her pencil outline was a good starting place, but now she needs something more concrete. As always, Lexa is the perfect model, lying completely still with her eyes closed, her breathing soft and steady. If Clarke didn’t know better she would say that Lexa is sleeping. It feels like she spends hours getting her initial lines down, but she knows it can’t have been more than ten minutes. It’s not long before the smell of paint fills the room, and Clarke cracks the window for fresh air and watches goosebumps rise on Lexa’s skin, but she doesn’t complain, and Clarke doesn’t say anything.

Clarke’s hands are clean but her clothes are quickly dirtied. Occasionally Lexa shifts, but she always returns to the exact same position. As Clarke examines the lines of the intricate tattoo down her back she tries to ignore the heat in her stomach, keeping her jaw clenched and her mouth tightly shut.

            But she needs to see Lexa’s eyes.

            She ignores them for now, focusing on other parts of the painting, but she can only avoid it for so long. Her throat is dry when she speaks, and her voice comes out low and raspy. “Look at me.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out the way it does. Lexa slowly opens her eyes, and Clarke’s breath leaves her body. It’s all she can do to focus on the painting, on mixing the perfect shade of green that somehow doesn’t come close to what’s staring at her from her own bed. It would be so easy for Clarke to just reach out and touch. Take.

            “Clarke,” Lexa says, in that unique way she does, her voice little more than a whisper. Clarke has to hold what little breath she has. And then Lexa is moving, turning on her side without bothering to pull up the blankets and – _oh_. Clarke drops her brush. Lexa doesn't speak and she doesn't move. She doesn't have to. Clarke is on her in seconds, pushing her down into the bed and sealing their lips together in a hard, passionate kiss that sets light to the tinder in Clarke's belly. She feels cold bare skin under her hands, skin that she’s been longing to touch for longer than she’s been aware of the desire. It’s been there since the start, she thinks, and then she stops thinking as Lexa’s cold hands with their slim, strong fingers slip up the back of her shirt.

            Lexa’s not wearing much, not even socks, but it’s still too much. Clarke’s searching hands slide down a firm stomach that she plans on spending far, far more time on to wrestle with the button on Lexa’s jeans.

            And then the door slams open and Lexa pushes Clarke off of her so hard that Clarke falls right off the bed and lands on her back on the floor with a hard thump and an audible wince. “Fuck me,” she hisses, eyes squeezed shut.

            “Clarke!” Octavia shouts from the direction of the living room. “I’m home! With Lincoln!”

            “Lincoln?” Clarke hears Lexa whisper over the sound of rustling fabric. When the pain subsides after a second and Clarke opens her eyes she sees Lexa hurriedly re-dressing. Her expression is a mixture of embarrassment, concern and disbelief.

            “You know him?” she asks.

            Lexa makes a non-committal grunt. “If it’s the same Lincoln? Yes.”

            “Fuck me,” Clarke says again followed by a heavy sigh as she falls back to the floor again. Thankfully Octavia is used enough to Clarke’s reclusive artist tendencies that she doesn’t demand an answer. Or worse barge into Clarke’s _room_ and demand an answer. It’s not very long before she hears the door to Octavia’s room shut.

            “I should go,” Lexa says immediately after.

            “No, stay,” Clarke says quickly. She sits up and slowly gets to her feet, rubbing the back of her aching head. “We’re not – we didn’t – nothing happened.”

            “Something happened,” Lexa replies. “I should really go.” She glances up, green eyes dark. “I’ll… meet you for drinks tomorrow?”

            “Is there anything I can say that will make you stay?” Clarke asks.

            Lexa smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No. Not right now. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Just tell me when and where.”

            Clarke can’t help but feel disappointed. “Okay,” she says.

            “I’ll see myself out.” Lexa pulls her sweater on but stops as she brushes past Clarke. Her fingers brush against the back of Clarke’s hand, and then her lips against Clarke’s cheek, and then she slips out of the door and down the hall. Clarke hears the front door shut. She lets out a shaky breath and sinks down onto her bed. Her head hurts, but it’s the reminder of Lexa’s lips on hers that aches the most.

 

            \\\Grounders? 4:55PM

            //Lexa: I’ll be leaving shortly. 4:55PM

 

            Clarke gets there first this time but she’s not left waiting for long. Lexa’s not quite punctual, probably thanks to traffic, but she’s damn close, and she looks damn good. Clarke tried to clean up a bit, but it’s cold so a rather bulky sweater covers up an otherwise flattering shirt and her jeans might make her ass look great but she’d be warmer in sweatpants. Lexa puts her to shame, and Clarke’s pretty sure she didn’t even try.

            “Sorry I’m late,” Lexa says instead of hello. She doesn’t stand too close. “I had a meeting.” Well, that explains the suit.

            “It’s fine,” Clarke says. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

            Lexa cracks a tiny smile. “Do you want to go inside? You look cold.”

            “Yeah,” Clarke says quickly. Lexa holds open the door for them and goes to get drinks while Clarke finds a table. She comes back with two beers and a blush on her cheeks. Clarke glances over in the direction of the bar to see an admittedly attractive woman behind it looking in their direction. Clarke frowns. “Make a friend?” she asks.

            “What?” Lexa asks. Her face is still red but she looks confused.

            “You’re blushing.”

            “No, I’m not. It’s just from the cold.” Lexa is a good liar, but Clarke knows better. She doesn’t press. Lexa sits across from her and fidgets, spinning her beer bottle between her fingers. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she finally says. “It was wildly inappropriate and it shouldn’t have happened.”

            Clarke’s chest tightens painfully. “Do you regret it?” she asks and immediately does the exact thing she just asked. She didn’t mean for it to get this heavy this quick but now that she’s thinking about it there’s really no chance of it having been anything else with Lexa involved.

            Lexa is very interested in her bottle. “No,” she says quietly.

            “I know it got kind of intense, but… Maybe we could try again? A bit slower?”

            Lexa finally looks up and smiles at her. “This feels like a good start, right?”

            “Yeah,” Clarke says quickly. “This is perfect. You. Me. Drinks. It’s fine, it’s great.”

            “You’re rambling,” Lexa says with a hint of amusement.

            “So make me stop,” Clarke fires back. “Tell me about your dancing.” She needs to know more about Lexa than she does. It’s a burning kind of desire, just like the kind she has to feel Lexa’s skin against hers again.

            “What about it?” Lexa asks.

            “Anything. Everything.”

            “I picked it up in middle school. A hobby, to get me away from my parents. As long as I kept my grade up they didn’t care. It wasn’t like the cost put a dent in their finances.”

            “Do you compete?” Clarke asks.

            “Some. There’s one coming up.”

            Clarke leans forward, excited. “Yeah? Awesome. Can I watch you?”

            “You care that much?” Lexa asks. She looks confused again.

            “Of course I do,” Clarke says. “It’s something you’re passionate about. That’s more than enough for me to be interested. Not to mention what I walked in on the other day was totally fucking hot.” Lexa blushes, but she doesn’t look embarrassed. Instead she smirks, something in her eyes doing its very best to stop Clarke’s heart.

            “Was it?” she asks.

            “Well, yeah,” Clarke says. “Hasn’t anyone told you that before?”

            Lexa’s eyes gloss over. She sips at her beer. Clarke bites her lip to keep from pressing. Eventually, after what feels like a year, Lexa opens her mouth, pauses, then takes a deep breath and starts again. “One person, yeah,” she says with sadness and pain in her voice.

            “I’m sorry,” Clarke says as quietly as she can to still be heard. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”

            “It’s okay,” Lexa replies, but she doesn’t deny that Clarke did. “It was a while ago.”

            “But it’s still a sensitive subject. I have one, too.”

            “Oh?” Lexa looks happy for the change.

            “Yeah. My ex-boyfriend, ex-asshole more like, decided to two time one of my friends and I. We both totally kicked him to the curb, but it put a pretty big dent in our relationship. We’re still trying to get past it.”

            “That’s horrible,” Lexa says. “I would never do that to you. Ever.” She catches herself. “Not that we’re dating, I mean.”

            Clarke laughs and reaches across the table without thinking, putting her hand over Lexa’s. Her palm is cool and slightly damp from the condensation on her beer. “It’s the thought that counts,” she says. Lexa looks down at their joined hands and slowly laces her fingers through Clarke’s.

 

            At the end of the night Clarke is drunk and horny and Lexa was absolutely determined to walk her home, so there’s an incredibly warm body for her to lean against as well and Lexa smells divine, even after spending several hours in the bar. She wants to take things slow, at least sober her does, but drunk her thinks Lexa is wearing way too many clothes and her brain just keeps going further and further into the gutter the closer they get to home.

            At Clarke’s insistence, Lexa walks her up to her door. Clarke can’t remember how much Lexa drank but apparently she can hold her alcohol a lot better.

            “I had fun tonight, Clarke,” she says. A shiver runs down Clarke’s spine. There’s something about the way Lexa says her name that she can’t put her finger on but _God_ is it sexy. Lexa starts to say something else but her words are cut off by Clarke grabbing her face and pressing their lips together. As far as kisses go it isn’t the cleanest – Clarke is drunk after all – but Lexa responds with gusto. Slightly shocked gusto, but still. Clarke’s balance isn’t the best and she teeters, but Lexa’s arms are just as strong as her fingers and she holds Clarke steady.

            It’s Lexa who breaks the kiss, breathless when she says, “I’ll text you when I’m home.” Clarke whines, but Lexa is adamant. She steals Clarke’s keys from her coat pocket and unlocks the door. Finn would have left her at the door, but Lexa fumbles around in the dark with a wasted Clarke clinging to her until she’s gotten Clarke into her room and on the bed. Clarke feels one shoe pop off and then the other. She yawns loudly and stretches before starting to pull at her clothes.

            “Good night, Clarke,” she hears through her drunken haze.

            When she wakes up an hour later with cotton mouth and a bladder about to burst, there’s a text waiting from Lexa. After taking care of her body’s needs and getting out of the rest of her clothes, Clarke curls up under her blankets to read it.

 

            \\\Good. Sry I’m such a lush 1:04AM

            //Lexa: Go to sleep Clarke. 1:05AM

            \\\I can’t. I miss ur face 1:05AM

            //Lexa: [Multimedia Message Received] Better? 1:06AM

 

            Clarke smiles at the picture on her phone. Lexa’s in bed with a book, glasses on her nose and hair loose and wild, looking tired, but alert. Her skin glows in the low light.

 

            \\\Better. 1:08AM

 

            Clarke falls asleep before Lexa replies.


	10. Constant Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Constant Conversations - Passion Pit

It’s never been difficult for Lexa to balance her responsibilities concerning the family business with her obligations in school, but it isn’t exactly easy, either. It doesn’t help that all of her exams always seem to happen in the same week or better yet the same day. It’s worse when she has a slew of meetings to navigate. To top it off, the only thing her mind wants to focus on is Clarke Griffin. Her lips still tingle from that drunken kiss and if she thinks about it for too long her body starts to follow. They’re not strange sensations, far from it, but it’s been a long time since anyone has inspired them in her. Not since Costia. It’s just as scary the second time around as it was the first.

            It’s her third meeting that afternoon and she’s tired. All she wants is Clarke. To see Clarke. Not speak to a bunch of businessmen, half of whom look at her like she’s not worth their time and the other half like she’s a piece of meat. It’s the last one at least, but Clarke is working late and Lexa has their own work to do. There isn’t any time for them to meet, not until Lexa’s scheduled appointment time tomorrow. Lexa frowns at herself. That sounds too clinical. Date sounds too… formal. She doesn’t know what word she needs. Her meetings are scrambling her brain.

            She packs up her things as quickly as she can and calls a cab to take her back home. It’s quiet with Anya still out, probably at the studio practicing her own routine. After the day she’s had, Lexa drinks it in like water. After shucking her jacket and unbuttoning her shirt the first thing she does is text Clarke. She doesn’t expect a reply, knowing that Clarke is at work, but even sending a message relaxes her. She rolls the tension from her shoulders and neck.

 

            //Clarke: I’m bored. U should come over 6:54PM

            \\\Aren’t you supposed to be working? 6:55PM

            //Clarke: There’s nothing 2 do 6:56PM

            \\\There’s always something to do. 6:56PM

            //Clarke: U sound like my boss 6:57PM

            //Clarke: [Multimedia Message Received] See? Nothing. So shush 6:57PM

 

            Sat on the sofa with her laptop on her thighs Lexa smiles down at the photo on her screen, a very bored looking Clarke with her back to a well-kept but incredibly empty gallery. She misses Clarke. Terribly. If she didn’t have so much work to do she would happily stop by, but the afternoon meetings had sucked up all of her free time. She debates taking a break to call, but Clarke makes the decision for her. Lexa answers and Clarke’s face, slightly pixelated, pops into view.

            “I’m bored,” she moans, complete with a pout and big sad eyes.

            “I’m sorry,” Lexa replies through a smile. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

            “Come over.”

            “I can’t,” Lexa says. “I’m sorry.”

            Clarke sighs. “I know. How was your day?”

            “Do you really want to know or are you just asking because it’s the polite thing to do?”

            “I’m offended you even have to ask that,” Clarke says. “Of course I want to know.”

            “It sucked,” Lex says bluntly.

            Clarke frowns. “Why?”

            “Meetings,” Lexa says in a voice she hopes explains everything. “They’re horrible. I hate them.”

            Clarke sighs. Static comes through the phone as she shifts and sits in a chair, what looks like an office behind her. “I’m sorry, baby,” she says. Lexa’s heart leaps into her throat. “Why do they suck so much?” Clarke doesn’t seem to have noticed. Lexa swallows hard and tries not to draw attention to it.

            “It’s all uptight businessmen, and it _is_ mostly men, and none of them think I’m qualified to be telling them what I do, even though I’m more prepared to lead the business than any of them could ever dream of being.”

            “I’m sure you proved them wrong,” Clarke says.

            “I did. I do every time. That doesn’t make it any better.”

            “I know it doesn’t. Is there anything I can do?”

            Lexa sighs and tilts her head back. “No, not really.” She hesitates. “Hearing your voice helps.”

            “Oh yeah?” Clarke says. “So does that mean you miss me?”

            Lexa feels her face grow warm. “Is it that obvious?”

            “A little,” Clarke says. She laughs. “It’s okay. I miss you, too. I’m sorry about how I acted the other night. I was drunk and-” Clarke’s face goes bright red. “I get touchy-feely when I’m drunk.”

            “I hadn’t noticed,” Lexa mutters, but the memory of Clarke’s kisses has started a fire in her belly.

            “Oh, I forgot to tell you!” Clarke says suddenly, sitting up a bit straighter. “My friend Raven is finally coming home. She’s been down south in the heat and absolutely hating it and she’s finally been released from therapy.”

            “Therapy?” Lexa asks, not wanting to pry but curious as to why “therapy” has to happen in a place that isn’t home.

            Clarke’s expression falls. “Ah, yeah. It’s a sensitive topic so try not to bring it up when you meet her. And don’t stare.”

            “Why would I stare?” Lexa asks.

            Clarke sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Raven was in an accident last year. A bad one. She was lucky not to have her leg amputated, but she’s had to wear this brace ever since and she can be really prickly about it.”

            “I wouldn’t ever-”

            “No, I know,” Clarke says. “I know. Just forewarning. She can be a bit ornery anyway, and when her and Octavia get together I swear to god it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in here.”

            “When is she coming back?” Lexa asks.

            “This weekend. She’s going to be moving in with O and I until she can find her own place, so it’s gonna be tight for a while. I was actually wondering if maybe I could finish up my painting at your place?”

            An image flashes through Lexa’s mind of Clarke sprawled out in her bed, golden hair splayed across Lexa’s sheets and her paint stained hands gripping Lexa’s arms. “Sure,” she says with a dry mouth. And then Clarke has to go and Lexa is left alone on the sofa gripping her phone with her heart trying to push its way out of her ribs.

 

            The deadline for the competition is coming and Anya is pushing her and Lincoln harder than ever. Lexa knows she means well, but she’s about to punch Anya in the face if she doesn’t shut the hell up. Angry tension settles in her shoulders as her and Lincoln take a quick break to stretch and drink some much needed water.

            “Sooo,” Anya says, making her way over. “How are things with Clarke going?”

            “Fine,” Lexa answers shortly.

            “Don’t be mad,” Anya replies.

            “I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”

            “Sounds like someone needs to get laid.” Lexa’s face flushes bright red. “Knew it.”

            “I need to go,” Lexa says, ignoring Anya and the heat on her cheeks. “I promised Clarke I’d meet her friend Raven at Grounders tonight and I’m not going to make a very good impression if I show up like this.”

            “It’s more honest than what you usually do.”

            Lexa scowls and opens her mouth to make a retort but Lincoln steps between them before a fight can start. “I’ll drive you,” he says to Lexa. “Octavia asked me to come, too.” Lexa closes her mouth and starts to gather her things. She had confronted Lincoln about her suspicions after the… incident between her and Clarke that one night. Once the truth had been ascertained, they stopped speaking about it. They rarely bumped into each other anyway, though Lexa had made him promise to stay quiet about her and Clarke. Clarke doesn’t need the grief and Lexa doesn’t need her head torn off.

            “How about I come with you?” Anya asks. Her tone doesn’t show it, but Lexa knows it’s as close as she’ll get to an apology. “I’d like to finally meet Clarke.”

            Lexa groans. “Just behave. Please.”

            “Don’t I always?” Anya asks. Lexa rolls her eyes.

 

            Lincoln drives them both home and takes a quick shower in the second bathroom while Lexa and Anya pick out clothes. When he’s done, Anya takes the master bathroom and Lexa the spare. It takes less than an hour for them all to get ready. Lexa’s stomach twists with excited nerves. It doesn’t take an idiot to see that Clarke’s friends are important to her. She’s never been good at making first impressions outside of the business world and she wants so much for Clarke’s friends to like her as much as they like Clarke. Lexa doesn’t have many of them herself. Only Anya and Lincoln, really, and a handful of her fellow students. Since her and Costia separated she’s been too closed off to want to play nice with others.

            “Lighten up,” Anya says, nudging her. Lincoln is off to the side, chatting to the bouncer watching the door while they wait for the others. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

            “I don’t even have a puppy,” Lexa replies.

            “I mean you’re nervous and it’s showing. Calm down. Clarke’s head over heels for you, I’m sure her friends will like you, too.”

            “Clarke is not-that’s ridiculous.”

            “I’ll know for sure after tonight.” Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose, but can’t reply before Anya goes, “Oh, look, I think that’s them there.” Lexa straightens up immediately. Down the road, squished into a recently vacated parking spot, is a beat-up car at least fifteen years old. She instantly recognizes Clarke’s blonde hair, uncovered for once, and Octavia’s slim frame. They’re both laughing at something. The third person to get out of the car is the one Lexa doesn’t recognize. The first thing Lexa notices is that she’s exceedingly pretty. The second thing is the brace that goes from ankle to thigh. Raven walks well considering.

            “Oh, she’s hot,” Anya says.

            “Which one?” Lincoln jokes from behind them. He shoulders past to greet Octavia. Clarke peeks around them, spots Lexa, and makes a face, pointing at the couple. She leaves them to it and makes her way over to where Lexa and Anya still stand, Raven in tow. Lexa tilts her chin up as Raven looks her over from top to bottom, her dark eyes judging and wary.

            “Lexa, this is Raven Reyes,” Clarke says. “Raven, Lexa.”

            Lexa holds out her hand. “A pleasure,” she says.

            Raven’s grip is deceptively firm. “Ditto.”

            “This is Anya,” Lexa says quickly, diverting attention from herself. “My sister and dance coach.”

            “Charmed,” Anya says with her best flirty smile and Lexa holds in a pained groan. This is going to be an interesting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a depressive episode.


	11. Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Shots - LMFAO
> 
> (shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, EVERYBODY)

Two drinks in and Octavia and Lincoln have disappeared somewhere and Anya and Raven haven’t stopped making sex eyes at each other. The latter is enough to make Lexa want to puke. There hasn’t been any hint of the interrogation Clarke had warned her about, but Lexa won’t hold her breath. It’s unusually _loud_ this weekend, even for a bar. There must be a special on. All that Lexa knows is that she’s paying for her drinks and Clarke’s and although it won’t put a dent in her wallet a few dollars off per drink isn’t anything to sneeze at. Clarke is more interested in Raven than she is in Lexa at the moment but Lexa doesn’t mind. She’s content to watch. She’s seen Clarke happy, but not happy like this. Anya seems quite taken with Raven as well. Lexa will have to interrogate her about that later. It’ll make a pleasant change from always being questioned about her own love life.

            Clarke’s attention briefly turns to her when she bounces up from the table with a grin on her face. “I’m going to order a round of shots,” she announces. “What’s your poison?”

            “I don’t really-” Lexa starts, but Clarke cuts her off with a look.

            “Don’t be a stick in the mud,” she says. “Pick a drink.”

            “Tequila!” Raven shouts from her seat and the chant starts up in seconds. Clarke has a wicked glint in her eye as she winks at Lexa and sweeps herself off to the bar. Anya laughs silently at her through a smirk. Lexa raises a brow and glances towards Raven. It wipes the smirk off Anya’s face quick enough. It’s a couple minutes before Clarke comes back balancing a tray laden with shot glasses in her hands. Everyone at the table cheers on her arrival, with the exception of Lexa, who reluctantly puts aside her glass of wine. Clarke reclaims her seat next to Lexa and passes the shots around.

            “What should we toast to?” Clarke asks.

            “To getting fucked up!” Raven announces and throws back her shot. The others follow, Lexa last. The alcohol burns a path down her throat and blackens the corners of her vision. She blinks rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes. Clarke leans into her side as the conversation picks up again. Raven is telling a story that has everyone in stitches. Lincoln’s arm is around Octavia’s shoulders, one hand on his beer. Lexa slips her own around Clarke’s, hoping not to catch anyone’s notice, but Raven glances over at just the right time and she might have been pre-gaming but her eyes are still sharp as ever. She doesn’t miss a beat in her story, but Lexa doesn’t like that look.

            “Babe, can you go get me a beer?” Clarke says casually a few minutes later. She doesn’t mean to be loud but she has to shout to be heard over the music and the endearment turns a few heads.

            “Sure,” Lexa says, feeling her cheeks warm. She extracts herself from the table and makes her way over to the bar, ordering another drink for them both. Out of the corner of her eye she sees someone step up next to her and when she glances over it’s Raven, a scrutinizing look on her face.

            “So, you Clarke’s girlfriend?” she asks, pitching her voice up to hear over the noise around them. Lexa tenses. Is she? She hasn’t really given thought to labels, but she doesn’t think Clarke has either, except for the whole babe thing. And they’ve kissed. And they cuddle. Have cuddled. And fallen asleep on the phone. Does that make them girlfriends? She swallows over the lump in her throat. She doesn’t want to put a name to something that isn’t there but Raven’s expression demands an answer.

            “Yes,” she says, feeling a weight lift off of her shoulders even as it presses down on her chest. “Yeah, I am.”

            “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you,” Raven says and Lexa doesn’t think for a second that she’s joking about it either. Threat delivered, Raven’s face breaks into a brilliant grin. “It’s nice to see Clarke putting herself out there again. Kind of surprised it’s you though; you don’t really seem her type.

            “She’s hot,” a voice behind her says. Octavia shoulders her way between the two of them and holds up her hands to catch the bartender’s attention. “That’s enough to make her Clarke’s type.”

            Lexa blushes, just in time for her drinks to arrive. She leaves feeling Octavia and Raven’s smirks burning into her back. Clarke is oblivious, but when Lexa hands over the beer bottle and sits Clarke plants a kiss on her cheek and snuggles against her side again. Octavia and Raven return a couple minutes later, Octavia with a beer for Lincoln and Raven with another tray of shots. Everyone reaches for a glass. Clarke has to nudge Lexa in the side with her elbow to get her to do the same. It burns less the second time around. The edges of her mind start to feel funny.

            Down the table she hears someone mention a club. She forces her attention to the conversation, trying to get her thoughts in order. A small shake banishes the worst of the clouds from her brain. Clarke turns dark blue eyes on her.

            “Lexa?” she asks, prompting. “Or do you want to turn in early.”

            “Clubbing isn’t really my thing…” Lexa says hesitantly. Everyone seems excited, and she doesn’t want to be the downer or disappoint. Beneath the table, Clarke’s hand slides up her leg and Lexa’s knee jerks up so violently that she rattles the drinks.

            “It’ll be fun,” Clarke says. Her breath smells like tequila, but her words are clear. “We can leave as soon as you want to, I promise.” Everyone is looking at her now, waiting for her answer. She has no doubt that they’ll go on without her, but isn’t it at least worth trying? She knows what Anya would say.

            “Okay,” she says. “If that’s what you want.” Clarke’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. Lexa’s participation cemented, she turns back to her friends and launches into a discussion about which club is the best one to go to tonight with the ease of someone who’s very familiar with the nightlife around campus. Lexa almost wishes she had another shot. No one orders more drinks. Within five minutes the group is bundling up to face the cold, a destination in mind.

            Lexa is familiar with most of this part of the city, but she admits that she never paid much attention to the clubs. She doesn’t recognize the one the group has chosen, but it looks all right at a first glance. The outside is clean and brightly lit, and while the line to get in the door has its fair share of drunks, but there’s no rowdiness. They all take their place in line, Lexa’s nerves soothed by Clarke snuggling up to her against the cold. Octavia and Raven are talking animatedly, but too quietly for Lexa to hear. She tries not to think that they’re talking about her and instead wraps an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke sighs and her breath ghosts along the side of Lexa’s neck. A shiver runs down Lexa’s spine. Se closes her eyes and bites her lip, taking in a deep gulp of the frigid air.

The line moves at a steady pace, and it isn’t long before they’re being ushered through the door and into a fog of loud music and the humid press of too many bodies wearing too much perfume. Lexa immediately wants to be back outside. But they check their coats and Lexa lets herself be pulled along into the thick of things, Clarke’s cold hand quickly growing warm in hers. Predictably, the first stop is the bar. Raven’s beat them there and is already waiting to order a round of shots. It’s less packed there than on the dance floor, but not by much.

“Hey, are you okay?” Clarke asks. Lexa realizes that her breathing has quickened and her grip on Clarke’s hand is too tight to be normal. She loosens her fingers and takes as deep a breath as she can with her heart pounding in her chest.

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “Just warm in here.”

            The rattle of a tray catches Clarke’s attention. She turns around and quickly snatches up two shots. “Here,” she says, pressing one into Lexa’s hand. “Have enough booze and it won’t matter anymore. Then maybe you’ll dance with me.” Her face lights up in a grin just before she downs her shot. Lexa watches her throat as she swallows before remembering to drink her own. It goes straight to her head. “Better?” Clarke asks. Lexa manages a nod. Clarke’s eyes glint wickedly in the flashing lights. “Good. Now come and dance with me.” It’s more of an order than a request, not that Lexa would be able to refuse anyway.

            She’s glad she’s not a heels girl as Clarke drags her into the undulating press of bodies. The music almost seems louder here. There’s an undeniable energy that seeps into Lexa’s skin. Clarke slides up close, hands gripping Lexa’s hips. There’s no finesse to their dancing. Their rhythm matches the pounding beat and thumping bass. Lexa’s body moves on its own, leaving her mind free to focus on the sensation of Clarke rubbing up against her. It’s innocent, mostly, until Clarke’s shoulders heave in a sigh that Lexa can’t hear and she spins around, pressing her ass into Lexa’s groin and gripping the back of Lexa’s neck to keep her close. The fire in Lexa’s chest shoots down to pool low in her stomach. Her hands start at Clarke’s hips and move forward to her stomach, slipping under the bottom of her shirt. The skin and muscle underneath her wandering fingers is hot and firm. Lexa’s nails scratch and Clarke’s whole body shudders. Lips find Lexa’s neck and teeth nip hard enough at her sweat-coated skin to leave a mark. Her hands inch up harder, just grazing the bottom of Clarke’s bra. She thinks she hears a moan, but her head is swimming and there’s so much noise around her she can’t be sure.

            She’s on fire. She can’t think. Her body feels like it’s not her own. She can’t breathe. She’s going to explode. Clarke’s nails dig into her skin, under her shirt just above her hips, then find her hands and pull. Lexa follows blindly, unable to see anything but Clarke, like she’s wearing blinders. They break through the edge of the crowd and find the corner where the bathrooms sit. Lexa would think they’d be crowded (if she could think at all), but they’re mostly full of girls fixing their make up. At least that’s what Lexa glances through a briefly opened door as Clarke tugs her past, down a narrow hallway and out a back door into mercifully cold air that bites into Lexa’s exposed skin and clears her head almost instantly.

            Before she can process anything with her newfound clarity, though, Clarke’s backed herself up against the rough bricks and yanked Lexa in by her shirt collar. She claims Lexa’s lips in a rough kiss and shoves one of Lexa’s hands up her shirt, holding it there until she’s sure Lexa won’t move it. Lexa doesn’t. The noise of the city is quiet in comparison to the club; Lexa can hear the music thumping even through the closed door and can feel it thrum through the bricks.

            Clarke’s tongue brushes against hers and Lexa stops thinking about the music. This time she does hear a moan, feels it vibrate across her lips. She slips her arm around to Clarke’s back and presses, curving Clarke’s body against her own. A distant corner of her mind tells her they shouldn’t be doing this out in the cold where anyone could see them but the haze of her sudden desire shuts it out.

            “Take me home-” Clarke gasps, her breath fogging between their faces. “Lexa, take me home-” Lexa’s knees go weak. She struggles to form an answer, although which one she doesn’t know. After what feels like an aeon, she hears herself say,

            “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in a depressive episode but trying to force my way out of it.


	12. Future Tidings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Future Tidings - Gemini Club

Clarke is, for lack of a better term, “all up on her” in the cab, and Lexa isn’t exactly in the right state of mind to stop her. She’s stopped caring about the half dirty, half perverted looks the driver is giving them. It’s too hard to focus on anything else with Clarke’s hands up her shirt and Clarke’s lips on her neck. She’s sure there’s going to be a mark in the morning. Maybe more than one at the rate Clarke is going. It’s driving her mad. Her whole body is on fire and feels like it’s about to burst. It’s a good thing the ride to her and Anya’s apartment is a short one, and even better that Anya is still with the others at the club. She wouldn’t even know how to begin explaining the situation. She doesn’t even know what the situation _is._

            Clarke barely stops touching her long enough for Lexa to get the key in the door, but once they’re inside she seems to relax as she takes in the new surroundings, although her face is red from the cold and her lips are swollen from being kissed. Lexa’s sure she looks the same.

            “It’s nice,” Clarke says. Her voice is lower than usual. She glances down the hall and then looks back at Lexa. Lexa takes a deep breath then takes Clarke’s hand and leads her into the bedroom. Compared to the state Clarke’s room is usually in it’s spotless, but by Lexa’s standards it’s a mess, her clothes from earlier strewn about the floor. Clarke doesn’t comment and obviously doesn’t care. She spins and throws her arms around Lexa’s neck, backing her up until she hits the door and shuts it with a loud slam. She tugs Lexa’s scarf loose and shoves her coat from her shoulders. Her lips find Lexa’s again, teeth scraping at her lower lip. The heat in the pit of Lexa’s stomach shoots straight between her legs. Her knees go weak. Of their own volition, her hands move to rid Clarke of her clothes. Underneath her jacket, Clarke is wearing a thin, but large sweater. It knocks the beanie off of her head on its way to the ground. Beneath that is a simple t-shirt, clinging to Clarke’s curves. She feels Clarke pulling her back towards the bed as she struggles to pull the shirt up and over Clarke’s head, her fingers finally touching on hot, firm flesh. Her knees go weak. The back of Clarke’s hit the bed and she falls, taking Lexa with her. They wrestle in a tangle of limbs, and it’s not until Lexa feels Clarke’s fingers fumbling with her pants button that she hesitates.

            This isn’t right. Not like this. Not when she’s so drunk the edges of her fingers feel funny. It’s not right. Clarke deserves better. She deserves better. Their first time should be meaningful, not the result of drunken lust. It takes all the effort she has in her body to stop and raise herself up on her arms, feeling how her body is shaking and how her heart is pounding in her chest. She’s sure Clarke can hear it.

            “What’s wrong?” Clarke asks. Lexa doesn’t miss the slur on her words. Her hands stroke up and down Lexa’s arms. “Are you okay?” She pauses, and when Lexa doesn’t reply says, “Do you want to stop?” _No_ , Lexa thinks. _I don’t._ But she knows better.

            “We shouldn’t,” Lexa hears herself say. Her mouth is dry.

            Clarke squeezes her arms. “I’ll go,” she says.

            “No,” Lexa says quickly. “Stay. The night, I mean. Stay here tonight.”

            Clarke cocks a brow, her eyes dark and dancing with amusement. “Yeah?” she asks.

            Lexa steels herself with a deep breath. “Yeah.”

            “Okay,” Clarke replies with a smile, and lets go of Lexa’s arms. Lexa’s knees shake when she stands, wordlessly rummaging through her dresser for something Clarke can wear to bed. Clarke asks to use the bathroom then vanishes. Lexa changes in the dark, fingers trembling and fumbling, before thinking to turn on a lamp. Clarke’s quiet return startles her.

            “Sorry,” Clarke says. She points to the shirt and shorts sitting folded on Lexa’s bed. “Is that for me?” Lexa nods. “Cool.” Clarke smiles awkwardly, inches forward to pick up the clothes, and retreats a few steps. “I’ll just go sleep on the couch,” she says.

            “No!” Lexa half shouts. “I mean no, you don’t need to, and Anya will ask questions anyway if she sees you and I’ll never hear the end of it.” What she really wants to say is _I want you to sleep with me_ but it feels too heavy. Clarke just smiles at her.

            “I’m a blanket hog,” she says.

            “I can deal with that.”

            “Raven says I kick in my sleep.”

            “So does Anya.”

            “I snore.”

            “So does Anya.” Lexa feels her face go bright red. “Don’t tell her I said that. She’ll kill me.”

            Clarke’s giggle is the cutest sound Lexa has heard all night. “Your secret is safe with me,” she says. “Could you, uh-“ She makes a spinning motion with her finger. Lexa quickly whips around, squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn’t open them again until she hears her mattress softly creak under Clarke’s weight. The sight of Clarke getting settled in her bed puts Lexa’s heart in her throat. She swallows over the lump and licks suddenly dry lips.

            “Well?” Clarke asks. “Are you gonna get in or not?” She can see the effect the booze is having on Clarke now; her eyes are drooping and her words are slow and slurred. Lexa gives her less than five minutes before she’s completely out of it. She slides beneath her blanket. Clarke’s heat radiates across the small space between them. She makes a cute little sound when she rolls over. Very cold feet make contact with Lexa’s ankles. If it was Anya she would kick, but it’s not, so she lets Clarke warm her feet and follows her into a peaceful slumber.

            She wakes to whimpers, faint, but enough to pull her back towards consciousness. The body next to her is twitching and jerking. It’s not violent, but Lexa knows what nightmares look like. She squints into the darkness, feeling around until her hand bumps into Clarke’s shoulder. She grasps it and gives it a firm shake, to no response.

            “Clarke,” she croaks with a dry throat. “Clarke, wake up.” A firmer shake and still nothing. “Clarke,” she says louder. “Clarke!” The body under her hand jerks and Clarke’s breathing turns fast and ragged. She squeezes out a curse. In the dark Lexa sees her run her hands down her face.

            “Sorry,” she says roughly. She untangles herself from Lexa and the sheets to go to the bathroom. She takes so long that Lexa considers getting up to check if she’s okay but before she can will her body to move Clarke is back. She slips back into bed, her cold feet once more nudging between Lexa’s. Lexa can feel her fiddling with something beneath the sheets.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

            “I don’t think I’m drunk enough for you to unlock my tragic backstory,” Clarke replies with a hint of humour.

            Anya would tell her to take the leap. “I’ll tell you mind if you tell me yours.”

            Clarke laughs at that. “Oh really? And what tragic backstory is that?”

            “You first,” Lexa says. She doesn’t really expect Clarke to acquiesce.

            “I had a dream about my dad. I don’t have them so much anymore. Probably the alcohol.” Lexa waits silently. The air feels heavy. “He died. A couple years ago.” Lexa can’t think of anything appropriate to say and sorry doesn’t seem like enough, so she doesn’t say anything at all. “It was a car crash. There wasn’t much-“ her voice thickens. She clears her throat before continuing. “They said it was instant. His watch is the only thing that wasn’t completely mangled. Like I said, probably the booze.” She turns to face Lexa, the lines of her face just visible in the dark. “Your turn.” Lexa can’t seem to speak. Clarke must think she’s fallen asleep, because she nudges her arm. “Lexa.”

            “It’s nothing like that,” she replies dully.

            “There’s different kinds of tragic,” Clarke says. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Sometimes it just feels good to acknowledge what happened.”

            “My parents don’t care about me,” Lexa hears herself say into the darkness. “Only about what I can do for the company. They want so badly for me to have it and I don’t. I don’t care.”

            “Fuck them, then,” Clarke says with all the certainty of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world for what other people think. Lexa’s quiet for a time. She listens to Clarke’s breathing even out. When her courage returns she finds her voice again.

            “I had a bad breakup last year.”

            “Yeah?” Clarke replies, half asleep by the sound of her voice.

            “Yeah. Anya keeps telling me it was mutual, but it didn’t feel that way. It still doesn’t.”

            “Should I be worried you’re using me as a rebound?” Clarke asks. It’s a joke, albeit a sleepy one, but Lexa’s reaction is strong.

            “Never,” she says, propping herself up in bed. Her eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that she can see Clarke staring up at her through half-lidded eyes. “That isn’t what this is.”

            “What is this, then?” Clarke asks.

            Lexa lets her body relax back into the mattress, and her hand trail up Clarke’s arm. “Something special,” she says. Clarke’s breath is warm on her cheek just before their lips meet in a slow and sleepy kiss. At least that’s how it starts. Clarke’s tongue brushes against her lips and hands slide up her sides, raising her shirt. Lexa doesn’t protest. She can’t think of any reason to. She can’t think at all, just feel; Clarke’s hands on her stomach, Clarke’s lips moving across her jaw and down her neck. For a brief second Lexa sees Costia’s face behind her closed eyes, but then she hears Clarke sigh and all of her memories retreat back to where they belong, leaving her for once mercifully free of her ghosts.

            Clarke’s bare skin pressed against hers isn’t a feeling that Lexa will ever have the words to describe. Clarke’s body is full and warm, the press of her hips into Lexa’s sharp but the weight of her breasts soft and heavy. Lexa strokes her hands along the thighs that straddle her and rolls up into the heat between them. She can feel Clarke’s desire slick against the base of her stomach. It’s been so long that she’s afraid she’ll forget how everything works, but her body remembers what her brain did its best to forget, and she falls into old habits she had long thought lost. Clarke is not Costia. Lexa tries not to make comparisons; it’s hard, but when Clarke kisses down between her legs she stops thinking about anything at all. Her thighs clench around Clarke’s head, a muffled grunt the only reaction, and her fingers wind tighter into Clarke’s golden hair. The only thing that keeps her quiet is the knowledge that Anya is probably home, and that’s one conversation she doesn’t want to have the next day.

            She comes quick and hard and when her body stops shaking she’s exhausted, but that doesn’t stop her from deftly flipping Clarke over and pinning her to the sheets. She hears Clarke’s startled gasp and revels in it, leaning down to taste the sweat on her skin. Clarke’s whole body shakes, her hands grasping tightly at Lexa’s arms. She thumbs Lexa’s tattoo and pulls her down into a hard kiss, tongue and teeth meeting with bruising force. Her hips work up into Lexa’s, her movements desperate and wanting, and when Lexa finally winds a hand between their bodies the moan that finds its way into her ear is nothing less than magical. She pushes her fingers deep, as desperate to give Clarke pleasure as Clarke is to receive it, and within a few glorious minutes of writing and moaning Clarke seizes and digs her nails into Lexa’s skin, leaving marks that will last until the morning.

            Lexa collapses next to her, breathing hard. Eventually both of them lapse into an easy silence, broken only by soft breathing and the thump of Lexa’s still pounding heart in her ears. Clarke reaches down to fix the blankets and splays her body over Lexa’s, touching in all the right places and warming her against the air that chills her damp skin. It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Depressed/stressed/tired/busy with school.


	13. Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Slowly - Susanne Sundfor

She wakes to Clarke watching her. The blonde found a pen and one of Lexa’s notebooks and she sits in Lexa’s desk chair, wearing the clothes Lexa gave her last night.

            “Don’t move,” she says quickly when Lexa starts to sit up. “Just stay right there. You look perfect.” Lexa feels her face warm. She lets herself settle back down on the bed and resists the urge to cover her chest with the blanket that had fallen to her stomach. She closes her eyes again, figuring that Clarke must have started drawing before Lexa woke up. It’s less creepy than Lexa thought it would feel, and more sweet. Her body still hums pleasantly with memories of last night. Or was it this morning?

            She listens to the scratch of the pencil. She can hear the faint sound of Anya in the kitchen just under it, and suddenly hopes that her sister and Clarke haven’t interacted yet. If she times it right she can get Clarke out without them seeing each other. A minute later she realizes how stupid that sounds. After what her and Clarke shared she can feel something different in her chest. More whole. Ever since Costia there has been a deep ache in her chest, once she has lived with for so long that she almost misses its presence. It feels like a silly thing to think.

            “You can move now,” Clarke says. Lexa blinks her eyes open. Clarke has a sheepish look on her face. “You were so beautiful laying there I couldn’t help myself,” she continues apologetically. “An artist can never refuse her muse, after all.”

            “Is that what I am now?” Lexa asks.

            “Among other things,” Clarke replies. She places the pencil and notebook back on Lexa’s desk and re-joins her in bed. Her feet and bare legs are cold from sitting in the open air. Lexa pulls her close and Clarke lets out a pleased hum. “Are you okay?” she asks.

            “I’m fine, why?”

            “After what we did, I mean,” Clarke says, warily.

            It takes a second for Lexa to catch on. “I’m… great,” she replies, feeling the truth of it as the words pass her lips. Clarke’s body relaxes against hers. She hadn’t realised Clarke was tense to begin with. Lexa rolls to face her and finds Clarke’s lips with her own. The kiss is soft and sweet but it tastes different somehow, and Lexa wonders with a hot blush if that has anything to do with Clarke’s head having been between her legs. A faint ache quickly follows.

            Clarke’s hands roam, her touch innocent and exploring. When she pulls back to push Lexa onto her stomach, Lexa doesn’t resist. Warm fingers trace the lines of Lexa’s tattoo.

            “How’s your final coming?” Lexa asks idly. Clarke’s touch is already putting her back to sleep.

            “It’s almost done,” Clarke replies. She shifts to straddle Lexa’s lower back, hands going from tracing to massaging. Lexa buries her face in her arms with a groan. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

            “Really?” Lexa asks.

            “Of course,” Clarke replies. “I’ve never had a better subject than you.”

            “So you meant it about me being your muse, then.”

            Clarke leans down to kiss her shoulder. “Definitely.”

            Lexa rolls over abruptly, nearly dislodging Clarke, who barely manages to settle on Lexa’s hips. “Come with me to my dance competition. Lincoln is bringing Octavia, and if I had to guess I’d say Anya is going to ask Raven. I don’t want to be alone this year.”

            “But you won’t be,” Clarke replies. “Not with them there.”

            “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

            Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m teasing. You know I’ll go, if you really want me to.”

            “I do,” Lexa says firmly. “I really do.” She sits up to meet Clarke for a kiss hard enough that Lexa’s pretty sure she’s going to miss breakfast. She glances at the clock on her nightstand. Make that lunch.

 

            “You look like the cat that just got the cream,” Anya says when Lexa meekly makes her way into the kitchen to grab a snack, a sleeping Clarke Still in her bed. “I assume you had a good night?”

            “Shut up,” Lexa replies.

            “I’ll take that as a yes.” Anya smirks at her from over the back of the sofa. “Is she still here?”

            “You already know the answer to that.”

            “Well, is she going to stay for dinner?”

            “Lexa grabs food for two and a bottle of water. “I don’t know.”

            “She should,” Anya replies.

            “She’s coming to the competition.”

            That gets Anya’s attention. Her eyes widen. “Really? To see you? You don’t like anyone watching you dance.”

            “She already has, and I want her there. Everyone else has a date.”

            “I don’t,” Anya says.

            “Yet,” Lexa says with a pointed look. Anya blushes. “That’s what I thought.” Anya doesn’t have a reply to that. Satisfied, Lexa takes her god back to the bedroom and gently wakes up Clakre. Lexa’s heart tightens at the sight that follows; dishevelled blonde hair and bare skin, stretching muscles and pert nipples. Lexa licks her lips, wishing her hands weren’t full. Clarke gratefully takes the water from her and guzzles half of it without stopping to breathe.

            “Thanks,” she says with a smile. Her eyes are bright.

            The words fall out of Lexa’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful.” Clarke’s face turns red. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you.”

            “Not even Costia?” Clarke asks. She’s not saying it to be cruel. Lexa can hear the insecurity in her voice. It startles her. She takes a sip of water, her throat dry, and tries to think of how to say what she feels.

            “Costia was special,” she starts. “I loved her. Love her. She was everything to me.” She meets Clarke’s gaze. “She’s not you. I’ve never known anyone like you.” A confession lingers on her tongue. She bites it back. Not yet.

            Clarke kisses her with a sweet longing that makes Lexa ache. “Yoghurt?” she asks in a shaky voice. Clarke forgets all about kissing her and snatches a cup from Lexa’s hand. Lexa sets her own aside in favour of dressing. She can feel Clarke watching as she pulls on underwear and a pair of jeans and a sweater. A glance in the mirror reveals her messy hair and faint bruises on her neck from her and Clarke’s lovemaking. _Lovemaking. It was, wasn’t it?_ She picks up her brush and starts to untangle her hair, bit by bit. She catches Clarke doing the same with her fingers between bites of yoghurt.

            “What now?” Lexa asks.

            “I don’t know,” Clarke says. “Whatever you want.”

            “Anya wants you to stay for dinner.”

            “Do you?”

            Lexa shrugs. “Only if you do. Anya isn’t as scary as you think she is. And it’d be nice… if you stayed.”

            “Okay,” Clarke says without hesitation, smiling. “You’re going to need to find me something to wear though.” Lexa briefly thinks about Clarke sitting naked at her kitchen table and is glad she isn’t standing with how weak her knees go. She puts her hair up and searches for something that’ll fit Clarke. A top is easy, but all of her pants are a bit tight in the hips and long in the leg for Clarke. Eventually she finds an older pair, gone loose with age, that she thinks will fit. When she turns around to hand them over, Clarke is sniffing the sweater Lexa threw her way with a content look on her face.

            Clarke puts on her borrowed clothes, underwear included, and stretches out on Lexa’s bed with her phone in hand. Lexa decides she very much likes the way that looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not being around. I have a lot going on in my head, and I've been busy with school. If anyone who follows me on Tumblr and reads my more personal posts they'll know a bit more detail, but suffice to say that I'm not very happy and I've had difficulty writing for a very long time. I'm trying to take steps to make it better, both so you guys have new content and so I feel more like how I should. I know this chapter is a bit on the shorter side.


	14. Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Sway - Julie London

When Lexa goes to the studio that weekend she takes Clarke with her and learns very quickly that ballroom dancing is definitely _not_ Clarke’s forte. It’s ben a long time since Lexa’s had her feet stepped on so much in the space of an hour. They break for a minute, Lexa with aching toes and Clarke with an embarrassed blush and apologetic smile.

            “I told you I only know how to dance in a club,” she says before chugging from one of the sports drinks Lexa brought. Lexa turns down the volume on the speakers and browses for something she thinks Clarke will like more. When the song starts to play, Clarke perks up.

            “I know this,” she says. Lexa takes a few steps back onto the floor and holds out her hand. Clarke takes it easily and lets Lexa pull their bodies flush, moving her free hand to Clarke’s hip. And they sway, Lexa encouraging the twist of Clarke’s hips, never letting their gaze break. Clarke finds the beat and her body settles into it, moving with Lexa’s in a slow and steady rhythm.

            “I like this,” Clarke says.

            “Me, too,” Lexa says. She lets her eyes shut, enjoying the feel of Clarke’s body against her own and the music in her ears.

            “We should do this more often,” Clarke says into Lexa’s ear. “It’s really nice.”

            “If you want to,” Lexa replies absently.

            “Are you okay?” Clarke asks, sounding amused.

            “I’ve never felt better,” Lexa says, pulling back enough to look at Clarke’s face. “I’m happy, Clarke.”

            Clarke leans up to kiss her softly. “Good.” And they go back to dancing, gentle swing filling the air around them. Lexa thinks she can hear Clarke singing softly under her breath and her heart swells with something close to love.

 

            They go to Clarke’s apartment after they’re done at the studio. The place is empty, much to Lexa’s relief. She’s not sure she’s ready to face her roommates yet, not after what her and Clarke just shared. She isn’t really ready to deal with Anya either, but she didn’t have a choice about that. She’s grateful for the privacy, at any rate. Clarke’s read to finish her final painting, and Lexa is equal parts anxious and excited to see the finished product.

            She strips without shyness. There’s no point now that Clarke has seen and touched everything. She leaves her panties on, just in case someone comes home, and stretches out on Clarke’s bed. Clarke cracks open her paints and the smell fills the room. Before she starts, Clarke puts on gentle music, both to help her concentrate and help keep Lexa relaxed. Sometimes it even puts Lexa to sleep, not that that’s a bad thing. Lexa closes hr eyes with a content sigh. Clarke hums softly along to the music every so often. It soothes leftover tension from Lexa’s muscles.

            “The lighting is perfect,” Clarke says after a while. Lexa lets out a sleepy hum. “I don’t even care what my teacher thinks about this. This is the best painting I’ve ever done.”

            “That’s ‘cos I’m your muse,” Lexa mumbles.

            “Almost done,” Clarke says in response. Another half hour passes before she speaks again. “Okay.” She sounds nervous. Lexa is immediately fully awake. “It’s done. Come look, just don’t touch.”

            Lexa takes her time to stand and stretch out aches from lying still for so long. She feels Clarke watching her but doesn’t bother covering up. She feels as nervous as Clarke sounds, but there’s no reason for it. The painting is lifelike, like something out of the pinnacle of the Renaissance. Lexa’s tattoos are the clear focus, her face hidden in the crook of her arm and hair messily splayed around her shoulders and down her back. The covers snug around her portrait’s hips make her face go red. It would have been intimate before her and Clarke became a thing. Now it’s like a window into the life they’re starting to build together.

            She can’t think of anything appropriate to say, so she takes Clarke’s face between her hands and kisses her hard instead. The force nearly knocks Clarke off her stool. Lexa hauls her up and they stumble towards the bed, falling on it in a tangle of limbs. Wet paint from Clarke’s fingers smears on Lexa’s face, up into her hair. What’s left of Lexa’s clothes and all of Clarke’s are on the floor almost before Lexa can draw in a frantic breath, and then Clarke’s warm, naked body is pressing against the length of her. Lexa lets her hands trail down the smooth skin of Clarke’s back with a pleased sigh. Clarke doesn’t waste anytime kneeling between Lexa’s legs, leaving partial handprints around her thighs.

            It’s a good thing no one else is in the apartment, because the noises Lexa makes would be nothing short of embarrassing.

 

            Strong orange light is coming through Clarke’s window when Lexa opens her eyes. The painting sits bathed in a thick ray, parts of the paint still shiny, but most looking dry enough to touch. She can hear the TV through the wall at her back.

            “Clarke,” she says to no reply. On the table next to Clarke’s bed, Lexa can see the notification light on her phone blinking. “Clarke.” She tries again, and when Clarke doesn’t move carefully leans over to grab her phone. The only thing pressing is a rehearsal reminder, thankfully from Lincoln and not Anya, who would have taken the opportunity to make a joke, if she didn’t just decide to call until she rudely woke Lexa up. She’s been so caught up in Clarke that she almost forgot about the competition. Her and Lincoln only have two more chances to rehearse before the big night and then… her degree is almost finished, not that she needs it with the family business already set to fall squarely in her lap. Lexa reached back over Clarke to return her phone to the table.

            She snuggles against Clarke’s back, placing a kiss on her shoulder, and closes her eyes. She’s just shy of falling back asleep when the door bursts open, startling both her and Clarke awake and alert. Raven is halfway through very loudly yelling Clarke’s name when she notices their current state and ends up cursing instead.

            “Raven! What the fuck!” Clarke spits, sounding none too pleased. Her voice cracks at the end. Except Raven looks far from pleased. She doesn’t even look like she’s going to crack a joke. In fact, she looks like she’s on the very edge of panic. “What?” Clarke repeats, sounding less annoyed and more concerned. “Did someone die?”

            “Can you just come see me in the kitchen?” Raven replies. “Alone?”

            Clarke glances at Lexa. “I won’t be long,” she says, and throws back the sheets. Raven covers her eyes with one hand and uses the other to guide herself back out of the room.

            “I should probably head home,” Lexa says. “I think Lincoln wants to practice.” She reluctantly reached for her clothes. “Anyway, I have work I need to get done.”

            “Okay,” Clarke says without argument. It hurts. She throws on a pair of sweats and a discarded sweater, trying to look unhurried. Lexa gets up and dresses quickly, although she doesn’t finish before Clarke leaves the room. With a last glance at the painting, Lexa gathers up her things and follows. Clarke is leaning on the counter by the fridge, Raven’s phone in hand, looking absolutely furious. Raven catching her eye and shakes her head before Lexa can say anything.

            “Later,” she mouths, jerking her chin towards the door. Lexa bites her tongue and leaves, hoping it’s not her that Clarke is mad at, even though that’s highly unlikely considering she hasn’t done anything wrong. Her mind flashes to Clarke’s ex, the next most likely suspect. Her mood darkens. He must have really fucked up to make Clarke care enough to be that angry, after what he did to her. She wants to know, not for him, but for Clarke. It’s hard to force herself to be patient and wait for Clarke to come to her.

            She doesn’t have to wait long, only until that evening. She’s already finished what work she can stomach for both business and school and Anya is… somewhere, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She trusts Clarke, but she can’t help worrying. Just when Netflix stops being so much of a distraction there’s a knock at the door. Lexa’s heart jumps into her throat. She gets up, smooths down her shirt, and answers the door. Clarke stands before her with angry eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

            “What’s wrong?” Lexa asks.

            “Finn is in jail,” Clarke says through clenched teeth. Lexa can’t tell if Clarke’s tears are from anger or something else, but she hates the sight of them.

            “Why?” she asks as Clarke slips past her and starts to raid the cabinets. She finds the vodka, and at least takes the time to pour it into a glass before she chugs it. “Why?” Lexa asks again.

            Clarke puts down her glass a bit too hard and refills it. “He was drunk,” she starts, then decides she needs more to drink before she can continue. Lexa softly closes the door and patiently waits. She’s still anxious but is relieved that the source of Clarke’s anger has nothing to do with her.

            “Clarke?” Lexa urges gently when Clarke doesn’t speak. She moves closer, standing an arm’s length away and wraps her arms around herself to keep from reaching out.

            “He was out drinking, typically, and he got into a fight with someone, also typical, and he bashed the guy up really bad, and then he got in his car and…” Clarke swallows visibly. She throws back another shot and winces. “He got in his car and he was going too fast and he hit someone.”

            “Is it anyone we know?” Lexa asks first.

            “No,” Clarke says.

            “Are they okay?” Lexa asks, but she’s pretty sure she already knows the answer.

            “He killed them,” Clarke says in a dead voice. Her eyes are hollow, for just a second, before the anger comes back, burning brightly behind already blown pupils. “He killed them, and he had the nerve, the _fucking_ nerve, to call Raven and try to one of us to get him a fucking lawyer, knowing full well what he did to both of us. Knowing full well that he killed someone and left someone else in ICU. Knowing full fucking well what happened to my dad.”

            Lexa takes a step closer. “You said he died in a car accident, right?” she asks, even though she already knows.

            “Yeah. He died in a car accident,” Clarke says bitterly. “He stayed late at work and when he was coming home some drunk asshole in a pickup truck blew through a red light and straight into him. They wouldn’t even let us see his body.”

            “Oh, babe…” Lexa says as Clarke’s face crumples. She pushes the glass and vodka bottle away and gathers Clarke into her arms. Clarke sobs in earnest, grabbing the front of Lexa’s shirt hard enough to wrinkle it. Lexa walks her out of the kitchen and to the sofa, holding her tight to keep her from collapsing onto it, and tucks her chin against the top of Clarke’s head. It’s several minutes before Clarke’s cries subside to sniffles and stuffy breaths. Lexa offers her a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

            “Do you feel a bit better?” she asks after Clarke is done blowing her nose.

            “Not really. I’m so angry I don’t even know what I’m the angriest about.”

            “You don’t have to do anything for him you know,” Lexa says. “You don’t owe him anything.”

            “I know. He’s never been great with alcohol, but he was never stupid enough to try something like this. He knows what happened to my dad. And he thought I was the right person to try and get a hold of to get him a lawyer, so he doesn’t go to jail for the rest of his life for vehicular manslaughter.” Her voice tightens as she runs out of breath. She inhales sharply then deflates. “The guy with the pickup truck offed himself. He never even paid for what he did.”

            Sorry doesn’t seem fitting, but Lexa doesn’t know what else she could say. Her first instinct is to take Clarke to the studio, like she does when she’s at the end of her rope, but it’s too late to go, and too cold to go up to the roof, where several of the residents keep gardens. She doubts the suggestion of a car ride would go over well either. She gives up.

            “What do you need me to do?” she asks instead.

            Clarke shrugs and sighs. “I came over here to apologize for kicking you out earlier, but I just got angry all over again. I’m sorry.” The booze seems to be hitting her now. Her eyes are a bit glassy and her words sloppy.

            “Clarke,” Lexa says firmly to get her attention. “It’s okay. I’m here now. Just tell me what you want.”

            Clarke’s eyes search her face. Before Lexa can react Clarke is in her lap, holding her face in both hands and kissing her hard enough to bruise. Lexa reaction is a startled and delayed, but her body’s reaction is an instant fire down in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t think anything of it until Clarke starts tugging at her shirt and Lexa can smell the vodka on her breath.

            “Clarke-“ she mumbles around Clarke’s insistent mouth. “I don’t think this is – a good idea – right now-‘

            “Why not?” Clarke asks breathlessly. “This is what I want.” She whips her shirt off and dives in again. Lexa groans at the press of Clarke’s breasts against her chest, soft and warm, but turns her face aside. Clarke’s lips glance off her jaw and start a trail down her neck. Lexa’s body tells her to let it happen, but her mind can’t help but feel used. Maybe Clarke wants this, or thinks she wants it, but Lexa doesn’t want to be her grief outlet. Not this way.

            “Clarke, stop,” she says. She firmly pushes on Clarke’s shoulder. “Stop.” The full force of Clarke’s drunken anger focuses on her, mixed with confusion and hurt. “I really don’t think this is what you need right now, Clarke.”

            “You don’t know what I do and don’t need,” Clarke snaps. “I told you this is what I want. This is what I need right now, Lexa. I need you.”

            Lexa leans away from another kiss and closes her eyes. She knows what she needs to do, but she hates to do it. “I don’t,” she says. “Not like this.”

            She thinks for a second that that might be enough and that she can help Clarke another way, but instead of resuming her place next to Lexa, Clarke shoves off her lap with a hard push to Lexa’s shoulders and makes a beeline for the door.

            “Clarke,” Lexa says. She’s seen Clarke drunk, but this is something else. How much did she have before she came over? “Clarke, stop.”

            Clarke throws the door open. “If you won’t give me what I want then I’ll find someone who will,” she says with a glare and slams the door so hard the windows rattle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an excuse. Just doing my best.


	15. In the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: In the Night - The Weeknd

Clarke regrets the words the instant they’re out of her mouth but she’s too angry and too drunk to turn around and go back. She half runs out of the building and down the street to the corner before slowing her pace to a brisk walk. The cold stings her face and eyes. It doesn’t take her long to decide where she wants to go. It’s not a place she frequents anymore, now that Grounders is a thing, which makes it the perfect place for her to forget. Forget Finn. Forget her dad. Forget Lexa.

            The bar was nowhere near as nice as Grounders and had a pathetic excuse for a dancefloor made even smaller by the number of bodies packed into it. Clarke had started coming here because the drinks were cheap and strong. The first thing she does after checking her coat is order a shot and throw it back without so much as looking at it. The track changes into one that makes the floor shake and drowns out the sound of Clarke’s thoughts. She orders another shot. It burns its way down her throat. After one more she finds herself on the dancefloor without remembering when she got there, caught up in the hot press of bodies. It doesn’t take long for her to catch people’s attention. A guy sidles up behind her, his shirt damp with sweat and stinking of cologne. Clarke grinds back against him and throws her arms around his neck, letting her head rest against his shoulder. His hands don’t wander but stay tight on her hips. Someone pulls him away not long after, leaving Clarke to migrate towards the next closest person; a girl, about her height, wearing a skirt that’s way too short. She doesn’t complain when Clarke sidles up behind her, but she’s clearly interested in the tall, wiry man in front of her and Clarke doesn’t linger. Her throat dry, she returns to the bar. There’s no point trying to keep track of how many shots she has, so she doesn’t.

            After her third trip she turns around to go back to dancing, feeling pleasantly numb in her extremities, and walks straight into the last person she expects to see. It takes several seconds for her eyes to focus on the face in the dark while she slurs apologies.

            “Niylah?” she asked the shocked person in front of her. “Niylaaahhhhhhhh!” She stumbles forward. Niylah catches her before she falls flat on her face.

            “Clarke? What are you – how much have you had to drink?”

            “A looooooot,” Clarke says through a giddy smile. Niylah flips her hair over her shoulder and out of reach as Clarke starts to play with her braids.

            “Okay, you know what? I’m getting you out of here.”

            “Noooooooo I’m having funnnnnnnnn.”

            “I think you’ve had enough fun for the night.” She pats Clarke down, checking her pockets for her coat ticket.

            “Shomeone’s getting freshh,” Clarke slurs. Niylah just pulls one of Clarke’s arms around her waist.

            “I think it’s past your bedtime,” she says as she pulls a staggering Clarke towards the exit. The cold air hits her like a brick wall. She’s shivering within seconds, enough to stand still as Niylah wrangles her into her coat and zips it up.

            “Don’t wanna go,” she says, pouting. Niylah ignores her. Clarke fishes her phone out of her pocket, but it’s snatched from her hand before she can unlock the screen and secreted away in Niylah’s coat. “Hey!” Clarke protests and tries to get it back. Niylah easily keeps her at a distance.

            “I’ve called an Uber and you’re going to get in it with me and I’m going to take you home, okay?” she says like she’s talking to a small child.

            “Oh, reallllyy?” Clarke drawls in what she thinks is (but later will realize was not) a sexy voice.

            “Not like that, Clarke,” Niylah replies firmly. “You and I both know there won’t be a repeat of that.” Clarke starts to reply but Niylah cuts her off. “What are you doing here, Clarke? You never come down this way.” Clarke doesn’t immediately answer, trying to remember why she came out. Their car pulls up a minute later. Niylah helps Clarke in and buckles her belt before worrying about herself. When they pass Lexa’s apartment building, Clarke remembers why she came out drinking in the first place and immediately starts to blubber. Niylah curses but hugs her tight.

            “I fucked it up,” Clarke moans into her shirt. “I fucked it up I fucked it all up she’s gonna hate meeeeee.”

            “Okay, Clarke,” Niylah says in a comforting tone tinged with annoyance. “It’s okay. You didn’t fuck up. No one’s going to hate you.”

            “She’s gonna think I ch-ch-cheated on herrrr.”

            “Who is?”

            “L-Lexa.”

            “Did you?”

            “No! I wouldn’t! Never! But I said-I said-“ She can’t remember what she said but she knows it was bad. She remembers Lexa’s stricken face.

            “Okay, then what’s the problem?” Niylah asks.

            “It’s fucking Finn! It’s Finn and my dad and I said something really mean to Lexa and now she’s going to h-hate me.”

            “No one is going to hate you, Clarke. Let’s just get you home and sobered up first, okay?”

            “I wanna go to Lexa’s!” Clarke half yells.

            “I don’t think right now that’s a good idea,” Niylah says. “I think you need to sleep this off in your own bed and talk to Lexa with a clear head, okay?” Her bed does sound like a good idea. She feels herself nodding. “Okay, then.” Niylah releases her. Clarke sits back up and wipes at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her coat. Without the noise and flashing lights from the club her adrenaline is fading and the booze is starting to make her feel sick and tired. The jolty car ride isn’t helping either. She doesn’t know who taught this guy to drive but her stomach does _not_ appreciate it in the slightest. The more she slowly sobers up the easier it becomes for her to recognize her surroundings. Niylah doesn’t talk to her, but Clarke doesn’t know how to get her phone back either, so she sits in boredom with her face pressed against the cold glass of the window. The last five minutes it takes for them to reach her apartment feel like hours and by the time they’re there she’s half asleep. Niylah has to help her out of the car again and practically carry her inside. When Clarke finally gets her feet under her she’s wobbly and swaying and needs the wall for support. Niylah sticks close behind her to catch her if she falls.

            Octavia is awake when they get back, sitting on the sofa with a lightly dozing Lincoln. Niylah guides Clarke inside and shuts the door with a whisper.

            “Niylah?” Octavia says softly. “What’re you doing here? What happened to Clarke, is she okay?”

            “Not exactly,” Niylah replies. She marches Clarke into the kitchen and fills a glass of cold water for her. “Drink,” she orders. Clarke leans against the counter and sips, her eyes drooping.

            “What happened?” Octavia asks again in a quieter voice. Niylah pulls Clarke’s phone out of her coat and hands it over.

            “She was pissed when I found her,” she explains. “As far as I know she didn’t do anything stupid, but she’s gonna need watched until she sobers up.”

            “You should tell Lexa,” Lincoln says sleepily from the sofa.

            “I want to talk to her,” Clarke mumbles.

“No,” Octavia says firmly and takes both Niylah and Lincoln by the arms and leads them down the hallway where Clarke can see them talking with bowed heads but can’t hear anything. She huffs, frustrated, and staggers her way to the sofa, spilling a fair bit of water on the way. She flops down, sloshing even more out of the glass, and tries to kick her shoes off her feet. She must make a noise, because Octavia comes over to take her water from her and try to get her up. She struggles under Clarke’s dead weight.

“I’ve got her,” Lincoln says quietly and gently lifts Clarke up into his arms. Clarke catches a glimpse of Niylah’s face before she’s taken into her bedroom. She hears her and Octavia’s voices and catches a goodbye and the sound of the front door shutting.

“I’ll get her undressed,” Octavia says as she comes into the room. “Can you get her a water bottle and some painkillers? She’s going to need them.”

“’Tavia I fucked up,” Clarke says. “I need to talk to Lexa.” She focuses on making her words clear but her mouth is fuzzy.

“Lexa’s asleep, Clarke,” Octavia says in a very motherly tone. She eases Clarke’s shoes off feet she’s just now realizing are very sore and helps her out of her coat. Clarke tries to help but just ends up getting stuck in her sweater and needs Octavia to untangle her arms.

“How do you know she’s sleeping?” she asks.

“Anya told me. It’s very late, and she said Lexa was already in bed but that when you wake up tomorrow you can talk to her.”

“But I want to talk to her now,” Clarke whines. Octavia sighs and tugs Clarke’s jeans off.

“It wouldn’t be very nice of you if you woke her up,” she says. Clark frowns and watches Octavia find pyjamas for her to wear. Someone moved her canvas. It’s tucked in the corner, not touching anything, but out of the way. Her chest starts to hurt so much she wants to cry. She doesn’t realize that she is until Octavia is crouched before her and wiping tears off her face.

“You can talk to her when you wake up, Clarke, okay?” she says gently. “Bra off, jammies on.” Clarke numbly complies, fumbling several times with the clasp of her bra and tossing it to the floor when she finally gets it open. Octavia slides a soft shirt over her head.

“I miss her,” she says as Octavia lays her back and pulls the blankets up to her chin.

“I know.” Octavia glances to the door. “You can come in. She’s decent.” Lincoln enters, water in one hand and medicine in the other. He puts both of them within easy reach of Clarke’s bed. “Here,” Octavia says. “Take two of these now so you won’t feel so bad in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Clarke says, barely moving her mouth. She manages to swallow without choking or dribbling water down her chin and drinks half the bottle before Octavia takes it from her.

“Don’t drink too fast or you’ll make yourself sick,” she says. “Lincoln and I are here if you need anything, okay?”

“Can I have my phone?” Clarke asks.

“In the morning. You need to sleep now.”

It’s hard to argue when her body is heavy and she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. She rolls over and burrows under her blankets. Octavia smooths down her hair and kisses the top of her head. Clarke hears her and Lincoln’s footsteps, and their muffled voices in the hall. She can’t hear what they’re saying but their voices are comforting and familiar. She rolls over again and forces her eyes back open to stare at her painting of Lexa, just barely visible in the light coming from the hallway. In the morning she’ll fix everything. She’ll call Lexa up, or go see her, and apologize for being a complete asshole, and then everything will be okay again. Lexa will know that she didn’t mean what she said and things can go back to normal.

Hr head starts to hurt, a steady throb at the base of her skull. Clarke closes her eyes again. The world still feels like it’s spinning but not as bad as it did when she was on her feet. She doesn’t feel as sick. She’s warm. Comfortable.

 

She is hard pressed to remember a time when she has felt worse in her life, mostly because it hurts to think. The voices coming from the direction of the kitchen sound like shouting, there’s a jackhammer in her skull, her mouth is full of cotton and the gross aftertaste of drinking too much and every inch of her body hurts. She tries to open her eyes, immediately decides that it’s a horrible idea, and tries her best not to puke all over her floor. After several very long minutes, when the worst of the nausea has passed, she tries again, and manages to keep her eyes open long enough to spot the half empty bottle of water and hopefully full bottle of pills next to her bed. She fumbles for both and spends a good thirty seconds trying to get the cap off the painkillers. The water is nice, but she wishes the painkillers wouldn’t take so long to kick in. Fifteen minutes feels like an age.

Getting out of bed is a different beast entirely, but Clarke need to piss like a pregnant woman and she’d rather not do that in her bed. She goes slow, moving inch by inch, and shuffles her way into the bathroom. Splashing water on her face after washing her hands and the lack of pressure on her bladder does a lot to make her feel better, but she still feels like crawling into a hole to die. It’s not her first rodeo, though, even if it might take first prize for being the worst. Octavia and Lincoln are at the dining table, talking. Clarke’s phone is plugged in on the kitchen counter. She makes a beeline for it, and thankfully no one stops her. Her heart in her throat, she checks for texts or calls from Lexa. A seconds later her heart plummets down into her stomach. Nothing. She’s deciding if she should text or call when Octavia plucks her phone from her hands and puts it back on the counter.

“Eat first. When you’re feeling less shitty you can figure out how you’re going to apologize to her.” Octavia’s voice says she knows exactly what Clarke did. “Anya told me,” she continues at Clarke’s contrite look. “And honestly after something like that I wouldn’t be surprised if Lexa doesn’t want to talk to you for a while. You have some serious grovelling to do.”

“Is she okay?”

Lincoln, only slightly more sympathetic than his girlfriend, gets Clark some orange juice from the fridge and picks out ingredients for a meal. “Not really,” he says.

“Anya said she locked herself in her room and hasn’t come out since you left. She tried everything she could think of but the only thing she could get Lexa to say was ‘go away.’” Clarke slumps into a chair and lets her head fall on the table with a thud that’s less painful than the current throbbing.

“Uhhhhg what do I do? I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Ask if she even wants to see you first before you go crawling over on your hands and knees,” Octavia says. “If she does, you better think of a damn good speech on the way there, and if she doesn’t you better think of a damn good speech for when she does.” Clarke glances at her phone on the counter but doesn’t make a move for it. Food first, as she was ordered. She needs to feel better before she can speak clearly anyway, and she doesn’t want to show up at Lexa’s hungover and pitiful. She deserves how she feels. Lexa doesn’t need to deal with it.

“You know I wouldn’t ever… I would never cheat on someone,” she says to Octavia, fixing her friend with as much of a stare she can manage when it still hurts to have her eyes open.

“I know that,” Octavia replies, “but Lexa doesn’t. She doesn’t know you as well as I do. And you were harsh, Clarke. Even if she doesn’t think you’d do that you still hurt her.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Clarke groans. She folds her arms around her head. The smell of bacon makes her stomach growl loudly.

“I’ll rub it in until this is all sorted out, one way or another,” Octavia replies.

Lincoln plops a very large plate of bacon and eggs down by Clarke’s head a couple minutes later. She jerks her head up and regrets it instantly as the room spins. “Eat,” Lincoln orders. Clarke picks up her fork.

 

It’s several hours before Clarke can tell the difference between hangover nausea and anxiety nausea. She didn’t realize the first time she looked at her phone what time it was, but she slept half the day away and spent most of the afternoon recovering.

And she still hasn’t worked up the courage to text Lexa. She knows that the longer she leaves it the worse it’s going to get, but each time she starts to write out a text it just comes out wrong and she starts over or locks her phone and gives up. Octavia keeps giving her pointed looks. Lincoln left, and without him there’s no buffer between her disappointment and Clarke.

            _I deserve that, too,_ she thinks as she picks up her phone again. She struggles with her words for a minute.

 

            \\\I need to apologize to you for last night. Can we meet? 7:15PM

            //Lexa: Yes. 7:16PM

 

            Clarke blinks down at her phone, wondering for a second if she drank so much that she’s still seeing things.

           

            //Lexa: I’m at the studio. 7:16PM

 

            Clarke wastes no time in grabbing her coat and shoes and barely gets both on before she’s out the door and ordering an Uber. She has no idea if the studio is actually open or not, but she doesn’t want to risk getting there late and missing Lexa. Her heart thumps loudly in her chest. The studio isn’t exactly far, but the ride feels like forever. Clarke practically throws her driver’s tip at him and scrambles out of the car. She makes it up to the studio door before freezing, suddenly aware that she doesn’t have a clue what she’s supposed to say. She could just fall on her knees and beg Lexa’s forgiveness. Her hand shakes as she reaches for the handle. It’s now or never. There’s no one at the front desk to guide her so she wanders down the hall, peeking into doors until she finds the right room.

            Lexa is half naked and drenched in sweat, chugging from her sports bottle. She looks over when Clarke opens the door. Tension follows her into the room, filling the space instantly. She quietly shuts the door and takes a couple steps towards Lexa.

            “Hi,” she says.

            “Hi,” Lexa replies. She wipes sweat off her face with a towel and fixes Clarke with a level stare. Clarke clears her throat.

            “I’m sorry,” she says, but it doesn’t feel like enough. She fidgets, licks her lips and continues. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I was way out of line last night and there is no excuse for my behaviour. I hope you can find a way to forgive me, but if not, then I understand. I know sorry probably isn’t enough to make up for how I acted.” Lexa remains silent. Clarke’s stomach falls. “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I wanted to apologize in person.” Lexa’s jaw tightens, and she looks at the floor. Clarke takes it as a sign to leave. “Text me if you want,” she says and turns around.

            She’s barely started to turn the handle when Lexa presses up against her, pinning her against the door. Lexa’s hands slip under Clarke’s shirt, and her heart jumps into her throat as her pulse drops into her stomach, but Lexa only wraps her arms tightly around Clarke’s waist and sets her chin on Clarke’s shoulder. Her voice is strained when she speaks.

            “Did… anything happen last night that I should know about?” she asks. A sharp pang runs through Clarke’s chest. She tries to turn around, but Lexa holds fast.

            “No,” she says firmly. “Nothing happened. I got really drunk, but then I ran into Niylah and she took me home-“

            “Who’s Niylah?”

            “Just a friend. I know you’re probably not in a very trusting mood right now but the only thing I did last night was drink too much.”

            “Do you promise?”

            “I promise, Lexa.” She finally manages to wriggle around. Lexa’s hands settle at the small of her back. “You can ask Octavia and Lincoln.”

            Lexa’s eyes are dark. Clarke can’t read her face, but she doesn’t pull away. She bows her head and presses their foreheads together. Her body is trembling.

            “Do you want me to go?” Clarke asks.

            “I don’t know,” Lexa says, but she doesn’t let go. Clarke leans against the door and lets Lexa’s weight sag against her. Her head falls on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke doesn’t dare to do more than return the awkward embrace Lexa is giving her.

            “Do you want to go out?” Clarke ventures. Lexa shakes her head. “Home?” A pause, then Lexa nods. She steps away and Clarke immediately misses her body heat. Lexa gathers her things. Clarke starts to call an Uber but Lexa stops her.

            “I have a car,” she says. “I just don’t use it much.”

            “Oh.”

            “It’s out back.”

            “Okay.”

            And it’s a damn nice car. Clarke can’t help but admire it, but Lexa doesn’t seem to care one way or another.

            “This is nice,” Clarke says, desperate for a conversation.

            “It gets me where I need to go,” Lexa replies.

            “Right.” Clarke sighs. “Lexa-“

            “The more times you say you’re sorry the less it means.” Clarke shuts up for the rest of the drive back to Lexa’s. She shuffles behind Lexa, her head bowed, and shrinks more into herself when they get upstairs and Anya is inside. She gives Clarke a glare so strong that Clarke’s surprised when she doesn’t drop dead on the spot but retreats down the hall into her room. The door shuts loudly. Lexa sighs after her.

            “I’m going to freshen up,” she says. “I’ll be right back.” She leaves Clarke alone in the living room without another word. Any other day Clarke would have followed her back, but now she feels like a stranger. She peels her coat off but keeps it nearby as she perches on the end of the sofa, ready to split the second Lexa tells her to. The five minutes that it takes Lexa to re-emerge drag on. When she finally comes back out she’s in sweats and a tank, her hair pulled back and her neck still damp with water. Clarke looks away so she doesn’t stare. The silence stretches uncomfortably.

            “Thank you for apologizing,” Lexa says eventually.

            Clarke glances up. “What now?” she asks when Lexa doesn’t continue.

            “I have studying to do.”

            “Do you want me to leave?”

            “You don’t have to.” It’s not a yes, but it doesn’t sound like a no either. Clarke shifts awkwardly as Lexa powers up her laptop. Her gaze skips over to the side of Lexa’s neck, at the patch of skin just behind her ear. Her fingers twitch. She bites her lip and scoots closer to where Lexa’s sitting. Lexa glances at her but doesn’t move. Clarke moves closer. Lexa tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. When she’s close enough to touch, Clarke pauses, but Lexa doesn’t acknowledge her until she presses her lips just behind Lexa’s ear, Lexa’s hair tickling her nose. Clarke lets her head rest there, eyes closed, inhaling Lexa’s scent. Lexa sighs heavily but doesn’t pull away. After a few seconds Clarke shifts around until she can curl up on the couch and rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa doesn’t push her away, and sometime later she dozes off.

            When she wakes up an hour or so later to Lexa shaking her awake and telling her it’s late and she should go home, she tries not to act hurt. After all, it’s her own fault. There’s no one in the apartment when she gets home. She shoulders her way into her bedroom and falls against the door, sinking to the floor and banging the back of her head against it. It could have gone worse, but it could have gone better, too. She doesn’t know what else to do. Lexa told her not to say sorry again, so she won’t, but there has to be a way for her to make things better. She just doesn’t know what.

            Her painting of Lexa taunts her from the corner. It isn’t really that late, but she changes for bed anyway and falls into it with a loud sigh and doesn’t move even when she hears Octavia come in. Eventually she drifts off to sleep, but it’s not a peaceful one.


	16. Love On the Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Love On the Brain - Rihanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's dress: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cme5EuVUIAAG96H.jpg:large
> 
> MUST BE LOVE ON THE BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN

With the end of the semester looming Lexa has a good enough reason to avoid Clarke without needing to make up excuses. She already has to cram for finals, and it’s hard enough without Clarke there to distract her. They text, occasionally, but Lexa has the feeling that Clarke is trying to give her space. Lexa isn’t sure if she wants it or not. She trusts that Clarke didn’t do anything, but her words still sting, and Lexa can’t look at her without feeling hurt and angry. Maybe she does need the space. At least there’s work to distract her. It seems that Clarke is busy, too. The less they talk the more Lexa misses her, and as the days pass her anger fades away. She doesn’t regret refusing Clarke, but she starts to wish she hadn’t wasted so much time ignoring her. It can’t exactly be easy for her, Finn being in jail for the reason he is. She’s trying to figure out how to initiate a conversation when her phone buzzes with a text from Clarke. Lexa’s heart jumps.

//Clarke: So I have to set up a gallery exhibition as part of my final and it’s gonna be held at work and I wanted to ask if it’s okay if I use the painting I did of you 3:23PM

//Clarke: And maybe ask if you wanna come with me. 3:23PM

Lexa sighs. She’s tired of being angry.

\\\Yes to both. Come over tonight. Anya won’t be here. 3:24PM

//Clarke: Are you sure? 3:24PM

\\\I miss you. 3:24PM

//Clarke: I miss you too. So so much. I’ll be there at like 6? 3:25PM

\\\Okay. 3:25PM

//Clarke: When’s your dance thing? 3:27PM

\\\Right before Christmas. 3:27PM

//Clarke: Can I still come with you? 3:28PM

\\\Of course. 3:28PM

The first thing Clarke does when she walks in the door is wrap Lexa up in a tight hug, squeezing so hard that Lexa squeaks before Clarke loosens her grip to let her breathe. The second thing she does is ask, “Are we okay now?” and when Lexa nods the third thing she does is kiss her hard enough to force her back a step. The kiss doesn’t last long but it steals all the breath out of Lexa’s lungs.

“That felt good,” Clarke says.

“Yeah, it did,” Lexa replies. Her voice comes out tight. She clears her throat and takes Clarke’s hands in hers. Clarke opens her mouth to speak again but shuts it as soon as Lexa says, “If you’re going to apologize again I’m going to kick you out.” She looks sheepish after that but doesn’t say sorry. Lexa’s stomach twists with nerves.

“Are we going to stand here all night or are we going to sit down?” Clarke asks. She’s smiling, and has a joking tone to her voice, but Lexa can see te same nerves she’s feeling in her eyes. Lexa smiles, bites her lip, and leads Clarke to the couch. Netflix is already on the TV from earlier. Lexa lets Clarke pick and when she does lifts her arm to let Clarke settle against her side. It’s awkward and tense, but then a funny moment in the show makes them both laugh and the earnestness of the sound startles Lexa. She looks down at Clarke, still giggling. Clarke’s smile is broad and genuine, and her eyes are bright. Lexa couldn’t stop herself from kissing her even if she wanted to.

It hits her then. Her chest tightens as fear swells. Clarke doesn’t notice. She settles back against Lexa’s side with a smile still on her lips. Lexa stares at the TV without seeing it. She doesn’t need to guess what the feeling is. The last time it happened, she unknowingly gave Costia the ability to destroy her, and Costia did, however unintentional it may have been. She swallows over the lump in her throat. She must have tensed up, because Clarke sits up to look at her with a cute little furrow between her brows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lexa says automatically.

“Then why do you look like you’re going to be sick?”

Lexa licks her lips and clears her throat. “I just really like you.”

“You really like me… and that makes you look like you’re gonna puke?”

Lexa feels her cheeks burn. “No!”

Clarke chuckles. “I really like you, too, baby,” she says and snuggles back in.

She can’t think about anything else for days. It’s so thoroughly distracting that she alternates between blankly staring at the front of the room and actually taking notes during all of her lectures for the next two days and when she goes to review her notes finds that they’re completely useless and actually has to email one of her classmates. Every time her phone pings with a notification from Clarke, which is fairly often now that they’re done fighting, her heart just about beats out of her chest.

One day Anya just looks at her and says, “You’ve got it bad, kid.” She opens her mouth to argue but she can’t, because Anya is actually right this time. “Are you going to tell her?” Lexa doesn’t have an answer to that, either. Anya just sighs at the look on her face and shakes her head. “You are actually useless.”

Clarke doesn’t seem to notice anything different. Maybe it’s because she’s too caught up with preparing for her gallery showing to notice. She isn’t the only student on display, but she’s acting like she is. Lexa doesn’t blame her. She can tell how important this is to Clarke without having to ask. She wished her own degree was to her. Even her recital dims in comparison to her feelings for Clarke. She does her due diligence though. Clarke wants to make her painting of Lexa the focal piece. Lexa understands, but it doesn’t stop her feeling uncomfortable. Still, she looks at the different layouts Clarke shows her and gives her honest opinion. She can’t imagine having her half naked self exposed to so many people, but she knows how important it is to Clarke for everything to go well.

“You’ll be there, right?” Clarke asks for the fifth time in twice as many minutes.

“Yes, Clarke,” Lexa replies. She can’t help sounding exasperated. She doesn’t want to, but she wishes Clarke would just trust her.

Clarke sighs and shoves away the various papers covering the floor in front of her, each with a different design on them. “I’m sorry. I really want this to go well and I really want you to be there. It’s important.”

“I know it is. That’s why I won’t miss it.”

“You say that but I was such a dick to you, I just-“ Lexa cuts her off by taking Clarke’s face in her hands and giving her a firm kiss. 

“Clarke, be quiet,” she says, and kisses her again. They end up flat on the floor, Lexa pinned beneath Clarke’s body with a thigh pressed between hers and her hands next to her head, Clarke’s fingers wrapped around her wrists.

She goes with Clarke to drop off her art and helps her do final blocking for her display, which consists of Lexa holding blank placeholder canvases Clarke dug out of storage and moving them around until Clarke is satisfied, which unfortunately isn’t until after Lexa’s arms start to hurt. She knows without a doubt that if anyone else had asked her to do this, girlfriend or no, she would have said no. She’s never really been one to believe in soulmates, not even with Costia, but watching Clarke fuss over her display Lexa feels a deep tug in her stomach, and knows that she would find Clarke anywhere, no matter how far apart they were.

And that feels an awful lot like soulmates.

“Clarke,” she says, pulling her away from the display, “stop fussing.”

“Sorry,” Clarke says immediately. “I just want it to be perfect.”

“It will be, but not if you keep messing with it.”

“This could be my big break,” Clarke says with a sigh. “If someone wants to buy one… I don’t know what I’ll do if this fucks up. Go back to med school, I guess.”

“Clarke, you don’t want to be a doctor.”

“Well if I had to choose between that and literally starving.”

“I wouldn’t let you starve,” Lexa says, maybe a bit too earnestly.

Clarke smiles sweetly at her. “Yeah?” she asks. Lexa wants to kiss her but settles for squeezing her hand instead.

“Of course. Now come on. I can think of way better things for you to do with your hands.” Clarke blushes, but her smile is wicked.

Lexa is grateful for finals distracting her from thoughts about her feelings for Clarke but misses her like something else. Between both of their classes they hardly see each other at all, save for quick meet ups here and there, until the night of Clarke’s gallery opening. The dress code isn’t black tie, but Lexa still wears one of her business suits. She wishes she could have picked Clarke up and arrived in style, but Clarke’s been at the gallery since mid-afternoon helping with set-up. She arrives early and circles the block a few times to calm her nerves before parking behind the dance studio and joining the crowd gathering across the street. Her ticket, courtesy of Clarke, sits in her breast pocket.

She spots Raven and Octavia a split second before they see her. They wave her up to their spot near the doors and greet her with smiles. Lexa glances around.

“No Lincoln?” she asks Octavia.

“Later,” she replies. “He wouldn’t miss this.” She looks over Lexa’s shoulder and raises her hand with a shout and a grin. “Bell!” Lexa turns to greet the newcomer. He eyes her suspiciously. Octavia grabs his arm when he gets close enough and tugs him to her side. “Lexa, this is my brother Bellamy. Bell, this is Lexa Woods, Clarke’s girlfriend.” Lexa both loves and hates how that word makes her blush.

“Hello,” she says awkwardly and sticks out her hand. Bellamy eyes it, then breaks out into a smile identical to Octavia’s and firmly shakes it.

“Hey,” he says. “Glad to see Clarke finally has good taste.”

Octavia elbows him in the side. “He’s been out of town for months,” she explains. “He’s been back for a week, but Clarke doesn’t know yet. She’s gonna lose her shit.” Lexa has never liked surprises, but it makes sense that Clarke would.

“Where have you been?” Lexa asks Bellamy.

“Last tour,” he says. “I just got discharged about a month ago.”

“Oh. That’s… good.”

“What about you? What do you do?”

Lexa can’t exactly say, “I’m the heir to a multimillion-dollar company,” so instead she goes, “I work for my parents.”

“Right on,” Bellamy replies. “Hey, they’re letting people in.”

Under normal circumstances Lexa would take her time to talk to the artists and look around the gallery, but she’s only there for one thing. She flashes her admission ticket at the door and makes a beeline for Clarke’s display. The others follow but linger to talk and look at the other displays. Lexa briefly wonders if they’re trying to maximize the surprise factor until she spots Clarke and stops breathing, let alone thinking.

The first thing she notices is that there’s a lot of skin on display. Her gaze starts at the bottom and makes it way up Clarke’s legs and over her hips and belly to settle on her cleavage, which she stares at for an inappropriate amount of time before Clarke notices she’s there and her face lights up. Her heels put them at eye level. Clarke rushes over to take Lexa’s hands in hers, her smile the brightest thing in the room.

“You’re here,” she says breathlessly, and looks like she’s going to kiss Lexa before realizing where they are and settling for a tight hug instead. She’s wearing perfume. Lexa inhales the scent of it and presses her nose into Clarke’s hair. “You look great,” she says when she pulls back, keeping Lexa within arm’s length. The appreciative look Clarke gives her sends shivers down her spine.

“So you do,” Lexa manages to say. “Amazing.” Anya’s words come back to bite her. She really is useless. Clarke smirks, then takes Lexa’s hand and pulls her towards the display.

“You were right,” she says as they come close. “It’s perfect.”

There are several of Clarke’s pieces on display, none of which Lexa has seen before, but the painting they did together is the focal point. It looks different under studio lighting. Lexa feels a blush spread from her cheeks down her neck and onto her chest. Without her tattoos on display it isn’t obvious that it’s her, but the knowledge that her half naked body is on display for the public to see is equal parts embarrassing and exhilarating.

“Fuck me, is that supposed to be you?” Lexa jumps and turns to see Raven just behind her, looking impressed. “Nice tats, Woods.” Lexa snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and turns away to hide the deepening of her blush. “This is great work, Clarke, you’re gonna get a buyer for sure.”

“I hope so,” Clarke replies. “I’m just not sure if I want to-“ Clarke cuts herself off with a gasp and then a squeal that draws the attention of the people closest to them. Lexa turns as Clarke rushes past her and into Bellamy’s open arms. He spins her around, both of them laughing. Lexa feels a twinge of jealousy before Clarke pulls Bellamy over and starts to introduce them.

“We’ve met,” Bellamy says, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Clarke gives Lexa a shocked look. “You knew he was home!?” she half shouts.

“We just met outside, Clarke,” Lexa says, unable to feel anything but joy at Clarke’s happiness. “Octavia introduced us. She wanted it to be a surprise.”

Clarke turns away to shove Bellamy. He doesn’t budge, but keeps on smiling.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were home!” she shouts, but she doesn’t sound upset. “You are such an asshole. How long?”

“Only a week, don’t get your panties in a bunch, Griffin.”

“You’d like that,” Clarke shoots back and they both laugh. Lexa shifts uneasily on her feet, feeling like an outsider. That is, until Clarke takes her hand again and grins at her.

“You can totally look around if you want, but you’ll hang with me, too, right?”

“Of course,” Lexa says. She squeezes Clarke’s hand and steals a kiss on the cheek before detaching herself. She’d rather stay be Clarke all night, but she doesn’t need to be told how important it is for Clarke to have some quality time with her friends, especially Bellamy. She tries not to feel jealous. It wouldn’t be fair of her to monopolize Clarke’s time. There’ll be plenty of opportunity for that later, she hopes.

The art on display is impressive, but not all of it is up Lexa’s alley. She wonders how many people Clarke knows personally, how many she was friends with at one time or another. Her current friend group isn’t exactly the artistic type, not that Lexa is judging. It's not exactly a well-kept secret that Clarke used to be a bit of a frat girl. She isn’t the kind of person Lexa ever thought she would fall for. Artistic ability aside, Clarke isn’t particularly bookish, though she does read, and she’s loud and brash where Lexa is quiet and reserved. She’s nothing like Costia was, but she’s one of the most respectful people Lexa’s met. Maybe that’s why they work so well. Maybe that’s why she has thoughts of love swirling around her brain like a hurricane. Maybe she should tell her, like Anya said.

Or maybe she would ruin everything. She hates not knowing the odds.

She does a slow loop around the room, admiring each display and sipping at her champagne before returning to Clarke’s side. Her friends have moved off to socialize with the other artists, and Lexa spots Lincoln towering over Octavia in a charcoal suit, laughing at something Bellamy said. Clarke reaches for her with a smile when she gets close enough and pulls Lexa in.

“Thought I lost you for a minute,” she says.

“I wanted to give you some time with your friends,” Lexa replies honestly.

“I’ll catch up with them later. I need to focus on socializing with everyone else, trying to get someone interested, that kind of stuff. I’m not being graded on if I sell anything or not but it would be a nice bonus.”

“I’m sure you will,” Lexa says. “Your work is amazing.”

“Well, maybe having my muse here will speed the process along.” Clarke gives her a warm smile that Lexa can’t help but return. Her embarrassment at having her body on display fades at the evening goes on and no one makes the connection. A few people ask, but Clarke doesn’t give her name, just that it’s someone she knows. They ask about Clarke’s inspiration, her process, her experience. Clarke has an answer for everyone, sometimes the same sometimes different. She’d make a good businesswoman.

By the end of the night, though, it’s clear that Clarke is tired of talking about the same thing with every person who says hi to her, and her frustration at people having shown enough interest to buy but not actually buying is showing.

“Did I price them too high or something?” she asks Lexa during a lull in traffic past her display.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Clarke,” Lexa says. “You’re brilliant. Art buyers are just stuffy, stuck up pricks.”

Clarke just sighs. “I’m going to go help start clean up,” she says, and wanders off to where several students are starting to take down their art. Lexa bites her lip and looks at Clarke’s display. She thinks the prices are reasonable, but that doesn’t mean that people will actually buy. Art is an investment after all. She glances back to where Clarke is, on the other side of the gallery, and approaches one of the staff.

“I’d like to buy a painting,” she says when she has his attention. “Anonymously.” 


	17. Earned It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Earned It - The Weeknd

Clarke is one of the last students to leave. Her friends and Lexa have already gone to a bar down the street to celebrate Clarke’s first official gallery show and Bellamy’s homecoming. She doesn’t feel much like there’s much to celebrate about the former, but at least there’s the latter. There’s definitely plenty to drink to there. A few of Bellamy’s tours since he joined when they were in high school have caused an insane amount of stress among their friend group, and have been the cause of some of the most depressed moments of Clarke’s life. He thought about re-enlisting for a while, too, but Octavia managed to convince him otherwise. Clarke had no idea that he was already home and out, but she can’t be angry. Having him home is the only thing making her night not awful.

Once everything is put away, she wraps herself up in her coat and heads out into the cold, starting down towards the bar. Lexa is standing on the corner, waiting. She offers Clarke a tiny smile and opens her arms. Clarke practically falls into her embrace. She wants to cry, but she just sighs into Lexa’s jacket instead and warms her hands against Lexa’s back.

“Art is stupid,” she says into Lexa’s shirt.

“No, it’s not,” Lexa says gently. “And you’re going to be famous one day. Worth millions. I promise.”

“You can’t know that,” Clarke mumbles.

“Except I do. You're going to rock the art world, Clarke Griffin.” She pulls back and leans down to press a soft kiss to Clarke’s mouth. “Now come on. Your friends are waiting.” She keeps one arm around Clarke’s shoulders and leads her down the street. Several of Clarke’s classmates are at the same bar, chatting in their little groups. A few say hi or wave. Lexa directs her towards the table where her friends are sat. Anya is among them, sitting suspiciously close to Raven.

“Here,” Lexa says as she pulls out a chair then takes the unoccupied one next to it. “I already ordered you a beer. I figured you might want to take it a bit easy tonight.”

Clarke grunts. She wants to get wasted, but the thought of drinking that much makes her stomach recoil rather violently. She leans against Lexa’s side and slowly drinks her sorrows, listening to Octavia tell Bellamy stories of what happened while he was away.

The booze helps lighten her up a bit as the night goes on. She starts to smile more and pout less and laughs at Bellamy’s jokes from his last tour. She’s met a handful of the guys in his unit and is glad that no one was killed. Murphy almost got his leg blown off but his movement is almost completely normal again and the military is putting him through engineering school. Lexa’s hand remains on her constantly, either on her shoulder or her waist or resting on her knee or thigh. Clarke nuzzles her neck when she starts to get tired.

“Can we go home?” she asks when it’s past midnight and her friends can’t speak without slurring. On any other night she would be just as drunk as them, but right now she just wants to be in bed with Lexa.

“Yeah,” Lexa says softly. She pays for their drinks and says her goodbyes. Clarke promises that she’ll be more fun next time and lets herself be pulled into a group hug. Bellamy squeezes her until she smiles and laughs, leaving her in slightly better spirits. She slips her hand through Lexa’s as they leave and walk through the quiet streets back to Lexa’s car.

“When’s your recital?” she asks when they drive past the studio.

“Sunday,” Lexa replies. Her hand rests on Clarke’s leg, beneath her dress. Her fingers are warm. “I already have a ticket for you.”

“Good,” Clarke replies. “I can’t wait to see. You’re like a completely different person when you dance.” Lexa smiles, but doesn’t reply. Clarke rubs a thumb over her knuckles. “Are you going to do anything about your parents?”

“Why would I need to do something about my parents?” Lexa asks. To her credit she does sound puzzled, but Clarke knows she’s not that stupid.

“Are you going to tell them you don’t want the business?”

“We’ve talked about this before,” Lexa replies. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“My parents wanted me to be a surgeon and look where I am now. There’s always a choice.”

Lexa sighs. “Not for me.”

Their graduations are on different days. Clarke only goes to the ceremony for her mom’s sake. When they go out to dinner after there’s no lack of awkwardness. Abby tries, but things have been strained between them since Jake died. It could be worse, but times like this makes Clarke miss the closeness they had when she was a kid. Even if their relationship can be repaired, it’ll never be the way it was before. Maybe it’s that that keeps Clarke from really trying.

“How did your show go?” Abby asks, bringing up the one topic Clarke has been trying to avoid thinking about. Her mood tanks.

“No one bought anything so I’m a complete failure but other than that it went great,” she deadpans.

“I’m sorry,” Abby says. She puts a hand over Clarke’s but Clarke pulls away and folds her hands in her lap.

“I think I’m done,” she says even as she looks down at her half full plate. She asks their waiter for a box the next time he comes around. “Thanks for coming out, Mom.”

“You can come back home,” Abby says. Clarke knows she means well, but she shakes her head.

“No, I can’t,” she says. “I still have plenty of time on my lease to figure out where I’m going to go next, if I even have to leave, so, thanks, but I think I’d rather stay here.” The look that crosses her mother’s face hurts, but there’s no way Clarke can go back to that house. She’d rather be on the street than drowning in memories again. “Thanks for dinner, Mom.”

Abby puts a hand over Clarke’s. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Clarke replies. She already knows it’s a promise she can’t make. Lexa is having her own family issues. Clarke tries not to feel upset about being shut out, but it hurts that Lexa refuses to talk to her about her parents and the business. Clarke knows it isn’t what she wants. Lexa knows it, too. She’s just too loyal to refuse, like she’s some kind of commander or something. The few days that pass before the weekend of Lexa’s recital seem like an age, too. Clarke thought she would feel different after getting a degree, but she’s even more stressed than before. She doesn’t even want to go to the party that Raven throws, but she does anyway, and sulks in a corner with a beer and waits for sporadic texts from Lexa. Apparently, the end of the year is a busy time for every business, not just retail stores. 

She knows there’s something Lexa isn’t telling her, too, but she doesn’t know what it is, and asking Lexa doesn’t get her anywhere. She just says “nothing” or “I’m fine” and brushes Clarke off like dust from her shirt. It would be annoying if Clarke wasn’t so concerned. She sees the shadows under Lexa’s eyes and hears the sighs that Lexa thinks are too quiet for her to notice. It’s enough to seriously worry her when Lexa finally invites her over, the day before her dance. She’s been making excuses all week, some valid and some obviously bullshit. Her worry is somewhat abated by Lexa’s nervous smile and the shy way she says, “Close your eyes,” before Clarke can go more than a few steps into the apartment. Clarke obliges, and feels the breeze from Lexa waving a hand in front of her face before she takes Clarke’s shoulders and starts guiding her back to the bedroom.

“Is this where you reveal that you’re into BDSM or something and I have to explain to you that 50 Shades of Grey isn’t a good representation of-“

“Shh.” Clarke clamps her mouth shut. She hears a door open and smells Lexa’s room, the lingering scents of the perfume she wears and the candles she burns.

“Romantic night in?” she asks.

“That would be nice, but no.”

“Some sort of satanic ritual?”

“No.”

“Please tell me there’s no one naked in your bed.”

“Not yet.” Lexa positions Clarke in the middle of the room and squeezes her shoulders. “Okay. Open.”

The room is a bit dark. Clarke blinks to clear blurriness from her eyes then lets out a shocked, “Oh my god,” when she sees what’s hanging on the wall in front of her; her painting. The one of Lexa, dead centre between two of her smaller paintings, all of which had been for sale at her showing. She feels her brain straining to make words come out of her mouth. In the end all she can do is turn around to face Lexa and gape, knowing she looks stupid but unable to ask.

“I figured they were a sound investment,” is all Lexa says. She’s blushing, but she’s smiling and looks pleased with herself. “And this way I don’t need to worry about my half naked body ending up in some stranger’s house. Is it okay?” Clarke feels her eyes start to brim with tears. “Clarke?”

“You are such an asshole,” Clarke manages to get out between happy sobs and laughter. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise! Your friends say you like surprises!”

“I do! I just – I was so upset that I didn’t – and –“ Clarke puts a hand on her stomach to try and slow down her breathing and wipes at her face. “You really are amazing, you know that?” Lexa properly smiles at her, a rare sight even for Clarke, and the only thing Clarke can do is kiss her with as much passion as she can muster. Lexa’s hands slip beneath her shirt to press against her back and Clarke is a gonner.

She twists their bodies and pushes Lexa back towards the bed until her knees hit the end of the mattress and she buckles, looking up at Clarke with dark eyes. Clarke’s done a couple of strip teases in her life, always drunk, and she doesn’t intend for this to be one, but the way Lexa is watching her unbutton her shirt is too good for Clarke to pass up. Besides, Lexa deserves a reward for buying Clarke’s paintings. It’s harder without music, and booze, but Clarke’s rhythm isn’t horrible and she’s pretty sure Lexa wouldn’t care if it was. When Lexa reaches out to touch, Clarke gently pushes her hands away and shakes her head.

“No touching,” she says at Lexa’s confused expression.

“What-“

“Shhh. You’ll see.” She drops her shirt off her shoulders and moves to her pants. Lexa’s hands curl tighter and tighter around the bedsheets with each piece of clothing that Clarke removes painstakingly slowly. By the time Clarke is completely naked and sliding onto Lexa’s lap, her whole body is trembling. When Clarke kisses her, her response is almost feral. Desire floods between Clarke’s legs. The huskiness of her own voice surprises her when she says,

“You can touch me now.” Lexa has her on her back before she can blink, dragging her lips and scraping her teeth across Clarke’s skin. In what she can only assume is revenge for earlier, Lexa pins her hands to the bed when Clarke tries to tangle her fingers in Lexa’s hair to guide her down to where she’s needed. Not for the first time she underestimates Lexa’s strength. Her grip isn’t tight enough to hurt, but Clarke can’t do much more than weakly wiggle.

“Stay,” Lexa says before slowly letting go. Clarke grabs the headboard instead and watches with hungry eyes as Lexa strips off her shirt and bra. Her bare breasts press against Clarke’s stomach when she leans down again to nuzzle and nip Clarke’s chest, her hands skating down Clarke’s sides to her hips. Clarke’s body bucks the further down Lexa goes, hips rising to seek Lexa’s mouth. Lexa’s breath makes her shudder, but she ignores Clarke’s pleading to grip her thighs hard enough to leave nail marks and kiss slowly up the insides.

“Lexa,” she whines, “is this punishment for teasing you because I’m sor- _fuck_ -“ Her body arches off the bed as Lexa’s mouth makes contact with her core. The wood of the headboard creaks under her fingers. Lexa throws Clarke’s legs over her shoulders and holds her hips down, accepting the clench of Clarke’s thighs around her head. Her orgasm builds quickly in the pit of her stomach. Lexa is never this rough, not that Clarke doubted her ability to be. What surprises her is how much she likes it.

Her climax rips through her. She barely hears Lexa grunt when her legs tighten, her heels digging into Lexa’s back. The world goes dark and muffled. It takes several seconds for her awareness to come back. Lexa’s head is resting on her hip, one hand gently stroking Clarke’s stomach.

“Wow,” Clarke breathes and feels Lexa smirk. “Gimme a second and I’m gonna give as good as I just got, just you wait, Woods.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean it. I just need to catch my breath.”

“Mhm.”

The next thing Clarke knows is waking up wrapped in Lexa’s arms, her breathing gentle and warm against the back of Clarke’s neck. She mumbles wordlessly when Clarke moves to go to the bathroom but doesn’t wake up. Clarke slips a pair of Lexa’s sleep short on when she comes back and fishes her phone out of her discarded jeans before crawling back in bed. She can’t resist the urge to take a selfie when she’s snuggled back in. Lexa adjusts in her sleep, putting her arm back over Clarke’s waist and nuzzling into her hair. Clarke doesn’t bother waking her up.

Lexa is remarkably calm when Sunday rolls around. If Clarke was in her shoes she’d be chewing her fingernails to shreds from nerves, but Lexa exudes a quiet calm and confidence as they go about the beginning of the day. She meets up with Lincoln early for a final run through of their routine but swings back to pick up Clarke before they head into town. Her dress is in the back, in black bag that Clarke can’t see through, and Lexa hasn’t let her peek, complaining that she doesn’t need Clarke shedding on it.

“I got you a good seat,” Lexa says when they’re at the venue. The dress bag slung over her shoulder contrasts sharply with her street clothes. “Right up front. You’ll find me after, right?”

“Of course,” Clarke says. She sweeps in for a quick but firm kiss. “Good luck, baby.” Lexa’s cheeks go a bit redder in the cold. Clarke watches her go inside before she heads back up front. She feels a little bit underdressed, but when she showed Lexa what she planned on wearing it had been met with approval. Her unease doesn’t subside until she reaches her seat and spots Octavia in the next one over. Octavia squeezes her hand.

“Hey,” she says, smiling broadly. “I’m so excited. Are you excited? I hope they win. They’ve been working so hard.” A few of the dancers poke their heads out from the “backstage” to look at the crowd. Clarke strains for a glimpse of Lexa or Lincoln, only to be disappointed.

“Have you seen Lexa’s dress yet?” She asked me to help her pick it out.”

“No, I haven’t. Wait. She asked  _you_?”

Octavia smirks knowingly at her. “You are in for a fucking treat, Griffin. A fucking treat.”

“...why...?”

“Because you have not lived until you’ve seen Lexa Woods in an evening dress. It was almost enough to make me go gay, honestly.”

“Oh, Christ...” Octavia settles back in her seat, looking very pleased with herself while Clarke steadies herself with a deep breath. The loud hum of conversation around her keeps her thoughts from growing too loud. Bellamy joins them five minutes later and Clarke spots Anya across the dancefloor. She raises her hand in greeting and gets a small wave in return. When the lights dim and the introduction starts the conversation fades. Clarke scolds herself for the nerves that build in her stomach.

“I hope they win,” Octavia says again. “Fingers crossed.”

“And toes.”

“They’re the fifth couple,” Octavia tells her, showing Clarke one of the programs she neglected to pick up. There’s eleven couples total. Clarke takes the program from Octavia and thumbs Lexa’s name.

“Did you know her full name is Alexandria?” she asks.

“Why would I know that,” Octavia replies. “It’s pretty, though.”

“Can I keep this?”

“Sure.”

Clarke really doesn’t know anything about ballroom dancing outside what she’s picked up from Lexa, but she can recognize talent when she sees it and genuinely enjoys watching the other routines, but she only cares about Lexa.

“Here they come,” Octavia whispers. “Hold onto your pants, Griffin.”

Clarke starts to say she’s not wearing pants but the second she spots Lexa her mouth goes dry and her jaw drops. She hears Octavia chuckle. Lexa scans the crowd and smiles when her gaze meets Clarke’s. Maybe Clarke is seeing things, but she thinks Lexa’s shoulders relax before her and Lincoln get into frame.

Watching Lexa practice is nothing like seeing the real thing. It isn’t a very long routine, same as the others, but Clarke is completely enraptured. The lines of Lexa’s body are impossible to look away from. Her dress swirls around her legs as Lincoln spins her. The bass from their song thumps beneath Clarke’s feet.

“I never thought The Weeknd could work for waltzing,” Octavia says into her ear. Clarke grunts a response she’s pretty sure Octavia doesn’t hear. When the dance finishes Lexa and Lincoln smile and bow. Lexa catches Clarke’s eye before they leave the floor. Clarke starts to get up to follow automatically. Octavia pulls her back into her seat and pats her arm.

“Easy cowboy.” Clarke groans under her breath.

The rest of the show is entertaining, but drags. Clarke forces herself to pay attention, out of respect, but when the dances are over and there’s a brief intermission while the judges debate the winner, she’s out of her seat in a flash and making her way back to where all the dancers are gathered. Her ticket gets her past the bouncer with no issue. It takes her less than five seconds to find Lexa, standing next to Lincoln looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Clarke kisses her a bit too hard to be considered polite in public. Lincoln loudly clears his throat. Clarke out of the kiss, but not out of Lexa’s embrace.

“You were... wow,” Clarke says breathlessly. Lexa blushes prettily. “You were meant to dance. Really. Both of you.” Something flickers behind Lexa’s eyes, but she smiles.

“You should get back to your seat,” she says. “After they announce the winner I’ll find you and we can go home.”

“Not out to celebrate?” Clarke asks.

Lexa shakes her head. “If I have anything to celebrate I only want to be with you.” She kisses Clarke gently. “Later,” she whispers. Clarke’s knees tremble. On shaky legs she returns to her seat. Octavia smirks at her but doesn’t comment, except to say,

“I really hope they win.”

Clarke grips the arms of her seat as the dancers file back out. They’re all thanks for their performances and then the winners are announced. Third place. Second. First...

Her and Octavia explode into applause. Across the room Anya whoops loudly. Lincoln is grinning broadly, but Lexa looks shocked until he nudges her shoulder. Clarke catches her eye. Lexa’s face goes bright red, even under her make up.

Octavia grabs her hand. “Come on. Let’s head out so we can get to them before they get swamped.”

Octavia stands at Lincoln’s side as people pass through offering congratulations. It takes a while for Lexa to join them. Clarke restrains herself from kissing her and grabs her hand instead.

“I told you so,” she whispers into Lexa’s ear.

Lexa squeezes her hand. “You were right, Clarke,” she says in-between polite thank yous and congratulatory handshakes. “I’m going to talk to my parents this week and tell them I don’t want the business. Life isn’t worth living if you’re not happy.”

Clarke grins and kisses her cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she says.

“Show me how proud when we get home?”

Clarke’s knees go weak again. “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dress: http://cdn01.cdn.justjaredjr.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/alycia-henrie/alycia-debnam-carey-lorenzo-henrie-more-fear-dead-premiere-47.jpg (except imagine a slit up the skirt)  
> The dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3eVRk3nDEQ
> 
> Don't kill me.


	18. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Weak - Wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised angst.

Lexa’s parents didn’t come to the dance, not that that’s a surprise. They never minded Lexa having hobbies, but when dancing became more than just a way to spend her free time and stay fit, they started to make their disapproval known. High school was a nightmare, but with adulthood came freedom, and as far as Lexa’s concerned it’s time to take advantage of it. At least that’s what she tells herself as she rides the elevator up to the executive offices, including her own, that she never uses and rarely visits. She lowers the hood of her jacket and wipes water off of her glasses. Her stomach twists with nerves. She focuses instead on the dull aching in her muscles, a result of her night with Clarke, and slowly stretches.

The elevator stops and the door slides open. The floor is quiet but busy. Lexa steps out with her head held high and her jaw set. Her parents don’t share an office, but they’re next to each other. It isn’t hard for her to get their attention. She lets herself into her mother’s and waits patiently for her to finish her call. In her head, Lexa runs over what she’s going to say. It isn’t the first time she’s broached the subject, but this time she’s going to make her position clear.

Her mother at least looks surprised to see her.

“I need to talk to you and Dad,” Lexa says before her mother can ask what she wants. “It’s important.”

“I’ll go and get him, then,” Hannah says. Lexa stares at the rain pounding on the office windows while she waits. It’s loud enough to fill the noise in the absence of any other noise. The door joining her parents’ offices opens again. Lexa takes a deep breath and steadies herself. Her parents sit and look at her expectantly.

“I know you plan on transferring my shares to me soon, now that I’m finished school,” she starts. “I’m aware of how much they’re worth. I don’t want them.” She quickly continues before either of her parents can react. “I have no interest in this business. I never have. I stayed to try and appease you and to try to force myself to match the image of me you have in your heads, but that’s not who I am. It isn’t what I want.”

“We built this business for you and your brother,” Richard says. “To secure your futures. You can’t make a living out of your hobby. Not a decent one.”

“You don’t know that,” Lexa says, too loudly. She inhales slowly. “You’re not going to change my mind. Give my shares to Aden. He actually cares.”

“Aden is a boy!” her mother retorts.

“He’s almost sixteen,” Lexa shoots back. “Older than I was when you started grooming me. If you won’t sign them over to him I’ll do it myself when the shares default to my possession after the new year. It doesn’t matter what you say, you won’t change my mind. My-” Her throat tightens. “My girlfriend told me life isn’t worth living if you’re not happy and if I stay here I’ll never be happy a day of my life.”

“You realize if you do this you’ll be on your own,” her father says.

“I already pay my own rent, my own bills, my own everything. I can take care of myself and I can find a replacement income.” The next words are hard to say, but she knows she needs to. “I don’t need you.”

Her father sighs heavily. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Lexa. If you change your mind...”

“I won’t.”

“ _If_ you do, there might not be a place for you here anymore.”

“I won’t,” Lexa repeats. “Now are you going to give me my shares or not?”

 

They don’t. Lexa has always been their star child. She got all the attention growing up, though she won’t say it was all good. Aden was left on the roadside, raised more by her and Anya than he was their parents. Their disappointment stings. It always has and Lexa hates it. She slams the car door shut behind her, sealing out the touch of the rain but not its noise and grips the steering wheel hard enough to make her knuckles go white. A scream bubbles up in her chest. She grits her teeth against it. She’ll get what she wants. The frustration come from her parents refusing to listen to her and acknowledge it, like they always do.

Her phone pings. She fishes it out of her pocket.

 

\\\Clarke: How'd it go? 5:35PM

//Horrible. Be home soon. 5:35PM

\\\Clarke: :( Ok. See u son. 5:35PM

 

She loosens her grip on the wheel and pushes her frustration down where it can sit and simmer until she can get comfort from Clarke. She drives away from her parents’ business wishing she never had to set foot inside again. She turns her music up loud enough for it to drown out her thoughts along with the pounding of the rain against the roof of the car.

20 minutes until she sees Clarke.

15.

10.

5.

Lexa rolls her neck and shoulders but the tension doesn’t loosen. She breathes deep instead. When she opens her eyes again there’s a flash of movement at the corner of her vision, followed by the screeching of tires and screaming of metal. She’s thrown violently to the side. She tastes blood in her mouth. Then nothing.

 

There’re unfamiliar voices. Mumbling. Someone is crying. She can’t move. Something is in her throat. She coughs. Someone says something she can’t quite hear and her body relaxes. The darkness comes back.

 

Someone is holding her hand and squeezing her fingers. They’re talking to her. She tries to respond but she can’t. She thinks she falls asleep.

 

There isn’t an inch of her body that doesn’t her and her mouth and throat feel like they’re full of sand. She tries to rouse herself, to clear her throat and open her eyes. There are lights on, but they’re dim. She has to blink to make her eyes focus but at least the light doesn’t hurt like everything else. Moving does but it’s possible if she goes slow.

It takes her a minute to figure out where she is and even longer to realize the reason she can’t move her right arm is because someone is lying on it. She slowly turns her head and blonde hair fills her vision.

Clarke.

Clarke immediately lifts her head, relief washing over her face. It’s puffy and red and her eyes look raw and bloodshot. She’s wearing one of Lexa’s hoodies.

“Oh my god,” she says, her voice cracking. “Oh my god, you’re awake. Oh my god.” She’s crying when she sits up to hug Lexa, planting kisses all over her face. Lexa responds as best she can. She tries to talk but her voice comes out a dry rasp. Clarke immediately pours her a cup of water and keeps refilling it until Lexa’s thirst is slaked.

“How long have I been here?” she asks slowly, testing her voice. Even her teeth hurt.

“Almost a week,” Clarke replies. Her voice is thick now. “You’ve been asleep for the past four days.”

“What happened?” She tries to sit up. Clarke helps and fixes her pillows.

“You don’t remember?”

Lexa shakes her head and instantly regrets it. “No.”

“Someone lost control of their car and hit you. They’re in pretty bad shape, too.”

“Oh,” Lexa says. She sighs as she relaxes back on the bed, marginally more comfortable than she was before. “What’s... wrong? With me?”

“You have a broken rib that punctured your lung, some sprains, severe concussion...” Clarke’s lower lip trembles. She sucks in a deep breath. “Cuts and contusions. You needed stitches.” She shrugs. “That’s what I can remember.”

“Is that all?” Lexa asks. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.” It’s a poor attempt a humor.

“You did,” Clarke says. “A semi. It’s a miracle they could get you out of your car.”

“Oh,” Lexa says. She doesn’t know why she feels like she needs to apologize.

 

The doctor tells her everything Clarke did, just in more detail. The more she learns the more frightened she gets. She has at least one more week in the hospital, if not two. She’s lucky she doesn’t need physical therapy but she’ll need to return for tests to make sure there’s no brain damage. It’s a lot to take in, even with Clarke holding her hand. Lexa sleeps a lot, but Clarke is always there when she wakes up. Lexa isn’t sure if she’s even gone home. A couple times Clarke’s hair is damp and her clothes are fresh but there’s a bag on one of the chairs below the windows that doesn’t move.

“You slept through Anya visiting,” Clarke tells one of the few times that Lexa is coherent enough to hold a conversation. “And Aden? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Lexa nods sleepily. “I’m gonna give him my share of the company,” she mumbles. “I don’t want anything to do with it. ...did he look okay?”

“He seemed fine, considering. Isn’t he a bit young to have such a large stake in such a large business, though? You’re a majority shareholder, right?”

“He’ll do a lot better job than I would,” Lexa replies. “Are they gonna come back?”

“They went to get dinner. I tried to wake you up but you were just out of it.” Clarke kisses the back of her hand. She’s always touching Lexa somehow. “Are you hungry?” Lexa nods and Clarke smiles. “That’s a good sign. I’ll go get something sent up.” She squeezes Lexa’s fingers and goes to find a nurse. It’s easier for Lexa to move but her body still aches. Clarke’s been making her do slow laps around her room, saying it’s a good thing Lexa’s so fit or she’d be having a harder time recovering. She can finally go to the bathroom on her own, but showering is still too much. Clarke helps without complaint. It’s easy to see why she did so well in med school. She would make a great nurse.

“Someone will bring up something soon,” Clarke says when she returns, pulling Lexa out of her thoughts. “Do you want to get up and stretch?” Lexa nods. Clarke offers her arm for support but lets Lexa get herself out of bed. The floor is chilly on her feet. “Easy does it,” Clarke says. Lexa needs to lean on her as her stitches pull uncomfortably, but only need to hold her shoulder for a couple minutes. She feels like an old woman, but she can walk on her own. It feels good to use her legs and stretch her arms and shoulders. The painkillers help.

 

            By the end of her second week in the hospital she’s more than ready to go home. She signs herself out and carefully dresses herself in the clothes Anya brought her white her doctor gives Clarke a packet of care instructions. To her credit, Clarke pays rapt attention, despite Lexa suspecting she already knows everything she’s being told.

            “Are you ready to go home?” Clarke asks when the doctor leaves. She carries her own bag as well as the clear one full of Lexa’s things.

            “Please,” Lexa says. She’s a bit winded by the time they get to the Uber, but she makes it without needing Clarke’s help. She grips Clarke’s hand in he car and thanks whoever might be listening that she still doesn’t remember what happened. A tension she didn’t realize she was carrying releases when she steps foot in her apartment. Anya and Aden are both there and give her tender hugs while Clarke puts her and Lexa’s things in the bedroom. Lexa holds her little brother close then ruffles his hair. He gives her a lopsided grin, but his expression quickly grows serious.

            “Mom and Dad said you’re giving me your shares,” he says. “They told me the first time we visited.” He looks like he wants to ask why, but instead says, “Thank you.”

            “They released them?” Lexa asks. “But they…”

            “Yeah,” Aden says. “All you have to do is sign. If you still want to.”

            “You can have them,” Lexa says. “If you really want them, you can have them.”

            Aden lifts his chin. “I do.”

            “Bring me the paperwork and I’ll sign them over.”

            Aden hugs her again, this time tight enough to make Lexa’s stitches twinge. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says into her shoulder so only she can hear. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

            Lexa kisses the side of his head. “I won’t.”

            He stays through dinner and hugs everyone when he leaves, even Clarke, who’s been unusually quiet since they left the hospital. Anya retreats to her bedroom soon after, leaving the two of them alone on the couch. The silence quickly grows awkward. An alarm on Clarke’s phone breaks it, signaling that it’s time for Lexa to take her medicine. She stands without a word to grab it from the bedroom.

            “Are you okay?” Lexa asks.

            Clarke nods and smiles and hands her her drink so she doesn’t have to reach. “I’m okay,” she says. Lexa isn’t convinced but she lets it drop. A few minutes later she’s yawning. “Let’s go to bed, hm?” Clarke suggests. Lexa nods sleepily. She stumbles along after Clarke, the meds dulling the last of her body pain. Clarke pulls out pyjamas for her and starts to undress her. Lexa wants to say she can do it herself, but her body is heavy and it’s all she can do to wait for Clarke to change her before collapsing in bed. Clarke tucks her in before she changes and joins her, phone plugged in but in her hand. Lexa rolls over to watch her.

            “I need a new one,” she says. “Mine’s busted.”

            “We’ll go shopping for one this week,” Clarke says.

            Lexa frowns at her, not that Clarke is looking. “What’s wrong?” she asks again.

            “Nothing, babe,” Clarke replies. She starts to stroke Lexa’s hair. “Go to sleep.”

            She doesn’t have to say it twice.

 

            Lexa wakes up in the middle of the night to Clarke thrashing and shouting next to her. When she fumbles to turn on a light she sees wet streaks down Clarke’s cheeks. Lexa grabs her shoulder and firmly shakes.

            “Clarke, wake up. Wake up. Clarke!” Lexa narrowly avoids having her nose bashed by Clarke’s head as Clarke shoots up, gasping and panting for breath. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Was it about your dad?” She pulls Clarke into a tight embrace. Clarke shakes her head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “It was about you,” Clarke says in a tight, frightened voice. She fists Lexa’s shirt between her fingers. “It was about you. When I saw the car and you were lying there covered in blood and tubes and you couldn’t breathe on your own and-“ Her voice grows higher and more panicked.

            “It’s okay, Clarke,” Lexa says. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m here.”

            “But you almost weren’t!” She’s crying now, her tears wetting the front of Lexa’s shirt. “You almost weren’t and I can’t lose someone I love like that again, I can’t!” The breath wooshes out of Lexa’s lungs.

            “You love me?” she asks dumbly.

            Clarke lifts her head and glares at Lexa with wet, swollen eyes. “Of course I love you, you big idiot.” A second later she realizes what she’s said and goes shy. Pressure grows in Lexa’s chest. It takes her a minute to recognize that it’s happiness. “Why are you smiling?” Clarke asks.

            There’s a hundred reasons, but Lexa only needs one. “Because I love you, too.”

            Clarke starts crying again, but it’s half laughter. She holds Lexa’s face and kisses her sloppily and says, “Don’t ever, _ever_ , scare me like that again, Woods, do you hear me?”

            “I hear you,” Lexa says. “I won’t. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me.


End file.
